Harry Potter and the Malfoy Ambition
by Goddess Blue
Summary: WIP. HD slash. Deep within the Malfoy Gringott's vault lies an heirloom that's about to cause Draco a lot of trouble.
1. Treasures of Dubious Quality

Disclaimer: **Harry Potter**, characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Bros. They are used here for entertainment purposes only.

Warnings: None yet.

Spoilers: Written Post-OotP.

**

Chapter 1 - Treasures of Dubious Quality

**

Every fall since he was a small child, Narcissa Malfoy would dress Draco up very nicely and take him shopping. On these annual trips she would buy him toys and trinkets, and model dress robes for his amusement. When he was five, she'd bought him a tiny broom that flew about his head. He'd chased it around the Manor for months before it escaped through a window into the sprawling gardens of their home, never to be seen again.

He'd cried and sulked for a week.

When he was six, there'd been a real live snitch inspired by his early, yet intense, interest in the sport of Quidditch.

It had disappeared in three weeks, and he'd thrown a tantrum not unlike those Narcissa had been prone to in _her_ youth.

This went on for many years, and Draco soon developed a gift for losing things out his bedroom window (though he held out hope that one day he'd find it all). When he was seven, there was a Special Edition™ one-time-only Super Chocolate Frog™, with the rare Evil Lord Grindelwauld card... which his chocolate frog decided to eat right in front of him before hopping out the window. When he was eight, his mother had bought him something she was _sure_ he couldn't lose: dress robes. Normally, he hated dress robes, but this time they were made 'Quidditch-style' with his then favorite team's logo on the breast.

They went missing in the laundry four days later, and several house elves paid dearly. Draco searched the gardens on a whim for days before accepting that they were, indeed, lost for all time.

When he was nine, she bought him a tiny pewter dragon that would open its eyes and scowl at him. Once, the tiny beast spit out a jet of flame and singed his eyebrows.

He didn't look very hard for it when it went missing.

When he was ten he'd developed an interest in potions, so she'd bought him a Little Wizards Potion Set™ complete with real potion ingredients and plastic vials for storage. He'd been understandably upset to find it inexplicably gone off of his worktable in the den a few days after he'd gotten it.

When he was eleven, the trauma stopped, mainly because Lucius informed Narcissa that he did not want another temper tantrum before the boy left for school. So, she bought him a big, black, snow tipped owl to take with him to his first year at Hogwarts.

Because that was _supposed_ to fly away.

That year was also the first year in which she dragged her poor son to Gringotts. It was early in the morning, and the bank had just opened. It was the first time Draco had ever been to the establishment, and he spent nearly the whole time in well-checked awe of the high, sloping ceilings. As they sat primly in the cart to their vault, he took a chance and looked over into the dark depths, only to see something with very large teeth smile up at him.

He moved closer to his mother.

She gave him an encouraging smile and then stared eagerly forward again, almost as if she couldn't wait to get a look at their vault. The goblin with them soon slowed to a stop next to a big, mechanical door that looked just like all of the other big, mechanical doors they'd passed. There wasn't even a marking near the door to inform a visitor which particular vault they were standing in front of. The goblin motioned to Narcissa, and she squealed before rushing forward and jamming her key into the lock.

Draco met the goblin's eyes only to see them rolled heavenwards.

The doors heaved open to reveal several very empty shelves. In fact, there were hundreds of shelves in various sizes and shapes. Little cubbies on one side and spaces big enough to fit a bed on the other.

All mysteriously empty.

Narcissa turned on her heel and stared at the little goblin, who was looking around the vault, astonished. Nothing had ever been stolen from Gringotts before-

"Thank you. We'll take it from here."

"But... Mistress..."

"Goodbye."

"B-but-"

"_Goodbye_."

"Yes, mistress," he eeped, before scurrying to wait outside the open vault. If the lady was unconcerned that her vault was empty, who was he to care?

Draco looked around the empty room, and then patiently back up at his mother.

"This," Narcissa intoned solemnly, "is the Malfoy fortune." She spread her arms and let her head fall back dramatically.

Draco looked around again, then back at his mother, still paused in the center of the room.

"I'm going to have to get a job, aren't I? That's what this is about. Look, mum-"

"Oh, dear." She cut him off, looking bemused. "I'd forgotten..." she smiled and pulled her wand from her robes, fixing it in between his eyes.

To be fair, he only panicked for a second before realizing his mother would never hex him.

Probably.

"_Monstrare Perubique_."

Draco felt dizzy for a moment, and then he was blinking at the sudden brightness in the room. Silks, jewels and chests were laying about in most of the shelves. Some were open and overflowing, while others were locked with giant padlocks. Gold Galleons flowed out around his feet and bunched up in piles against the walls. The room looked just like a real treasure trove should.

"Wow."

"Yes. I know. This is the cheap stuff."

Draco looked at her in surprise, but she only smiled and whirled around towards the back of the room. She began to move things out of the way, and he stepped forward to help her. Soon, they had cleared a path to the very last shelf which stretched from the floor of the vault to it's ceiling and was about five feet wide. _This_ shelf at least was actually empty. Narcissa brought her wand forth and tapped three times in quick succession on the back wall.

A shudder swept through the floor of the vault and the wood swung back to reveal a black, cavernous, gaping hole. Narcissa gave her son one last, wicked look before disappearing into the darkness. He bit his lip and looked back at the bright treasure behind him.

A hand wrapped into the front of his dress robes and propelled him forward. He just barely avoided tripping over his own legs as he stumbled into the new, dank room, and he immediately clutched at his mother's hand. Her free hand reached above his head and slammed the door shut behind him, prompting Draco to dig his fingers into his mother's palm.

She scoffed and tugged at her hand. "_Honestly_, Draco. One would think you were afraid of the dark. _Lumos_."

He would have taken offense to that, if it weren't for the fact that his mother's now-lit wand revealed the menacing scowl of a past Malfoy, his portrait hanging just out of arms reach. Wild, bright blond hair hung down the man's sloping shoulders, and wide, light blue eyes were narrowed dangerously. The signature, aristocratic nose of the Malfoy line had obviously been broken at least once in this particular Malfoy's young life, and his pale visage was marked by a scar that had been slashed from the base of his left ear to mid-cheek.

He was wearing long, black robes, cut in a medieval style, hundreds of years out of fashion. Behind him loomed several sturdy bookcases, filled and overflowing with books labeled in fuzzy script. The man, who had finally stopped glowering at them, and now only stared, clutched one such book in his hand.

"Ah, Narcissa. You've brought the latest of my progeny down for a visit, hmm? How thoughtful. I was only saying to Salazar the other day that-"

"Yes, yes Loki. We've come to see the Ambition."

__

Loki Malfoy, Draco's brain stuttered to a halt and he stared up at the portrait on the wall opposite them, wide eyed. This, this, this young man was his great great great great... so many greats of a grandfather, and Draco had had no idea there was a portrait of him _anywhere_.

Draco tugged at his mother's dress robes, and got tutted into silence.

"How rude, Narcissa. I always said to Lucius' mother that her son's bride would embarrass her into an early grave."

"Nonsense," Narcissa purred up at the lecturing portrait, "she's still quite alive. We visit her at St. Mungo's every other month."

"You're an awful, disgraceful woman, I have no idea what Lucius was thinking-"

"You know what he was thinking, Loki, and you know what he was thinking _with_."

"How dare you make such insinuations in front of children?!"

Draco wasn't quite following the conversation, but it _sounded_ interesting...

"For Merlin's sake, Loki, I was referring to the _ring_!"

"Of course, you low-brow buffoon. I'll believe that the moment I believe that blonde is your _natural_ color."

"You are such a _bitch_!"

"What on _earth_ do you want to show the child the Ambition for? You know very well he can't touch it yet."

"Do I?" She studied her nails, suddenly casual, and the painting switched its attention to Draco.

"You can't touch it."

"I can if Mother says I can," Draco said smugly, having lost his respect for the portrait the moment it had begun to insult his mum. "Is your paint in need of a refreshing charm? You're awfully rude for a portrait."

The man's eyes widened in surprise, and then he huffed down at the blond boy. "And _you_ take after your mother."

"Thank you," Narcissa and Draco answered in unison.

"Now, Loki," Narcissa was back to purring, "if you _don't_ mind, I'd like to show my son the family legacy."

"You mean _my_ family legacy, insufferable girl."

"Why, Loki! We're relatives, if you'll remember. It's _our_ family legacy."

"I wish I could forget," the man mumbled, and then sighed and swung open. Behind him was another cavern, this one decidedly _not_ empty, and not at all dark.

"-and I said to him, 'Your Highness, you know very well that I can't run away with you, I'm promised to a _Malfoy_.'" A high pitched, grating voice spilled from inside, and Narcissa looked as if she was biting back a feminine squeal. The sounds from within drew to an abrupt halt, and then there was a squeal.

"_Visitors_! Loki, _why_ didn't you warn me? I'm hardly _dressed_!" A young woman shrieked from one of the portraits, of which Draco counted nine. The room into which they'd stepped was a perfect, circular cavern, and each of the portraits was placed an equal distance from the others. Behind him, Loki's portrait swung closed and Draco whirled to find Loki scowling down at him again, from this side of the door, now left-handed.

"Nereid, dear," came the same grating voice that had been telling the story they'd interrupted, "you're _always_ hardly dressed. Whatever possessed Willis to have you painted in that outfit, I'll never know."

Draco turned again to take in each one of the portraits, trying to guess which one of his relatives was portrayed where. The young woman who'd been yelling her head off a moment ago, was throwing on a robe over her skimpy red lingerie, and a man in a portrait across the room from her was chuckling good naturedly and leering at her.

"I was thinking that I'd like to look at my wife in it for the rest of eternity."

"Oh, Willis, you charming man!"

Beside the young man-Willis, Draco assumed-a slightly older man with darker blond hair lifted a glass of amber liquid in salute to Draco and threw it back, then slammed the empty cup onto a nearby wooden counter and picked up a painted decanter. The nameplate below his portrait named him 'Liam Malfoy'. Next was a Loki. On the other side of him was another man with nearly white blond hair, perfect aristocratic features, neatly dressed, and looking down his nose at Draco. His nameplate read 'Daimon Malfoy,' and Draco fought the urge to stare in rampant curiosity at the patriarch of their family. Beside the portrait of his long-dead ancestor sat a redheaded woman, who nodded to Draco and then looked quickly back into her book. It looked at first to be a text of some sort, before the words clarified for a moment as she shifted, and Draco realized she was reading a romance novel. The nameplate below her portrait read 'Eirene Malfoy'. Beside _her_ was Nereid, the now conservatively dressed young blonde, who beamed down at him.

"Hello, there, little boy. Are you the newest Malfoy? My, you're young to be brought here."

"Nereid, darling," came the grating voice again from the portrait right next to her, identified by the shiny gold nameplate as 'Maened Malfoy', "don't talk to him like that. He's not a baby, he's a strapping young lad, who will hopefully follow in the footsteps of the greater men in his lineage."

Maened, a woman with dark, raven hair, shot a look of pure disgust at the drunken Liam across from her, and he toasted her scowl before throwing back his drink.

"Yes, mother." Came the bright response from Nereid, and Maened scowled.

"Don't call me that. Just because the damn ring chose you from whatever idiot wish Willis _made_, is no reason to think you're a part of this family."

"It wasn't an idiot wish, Mother," came Willis' cheery voice from across the room, "I wished to have someone who would keep me happy. What else could I wish for, with you and Father as a shining example of marriage."

"I was a fine choice in wife for a Malfoy, wasn't I, Liam?"

The drunken man snorted.

Draco moved past Maened to the picture directly across from Loki and the entrance, and found himself looking up into the deep, dark eyes of a portrait labeled in proud letters as, 'SALAZAR SLYTHERIN.'

"Mum! Salazar Slytherin is in our _vault_!"

"I know dear. Don't embarrass yourself in front of your relatives, now." Narcissa had broken off her conversation with the woman next to Salazar's portrait. 'Nyx Malfoy' was the name of the woman with white-blonde, curly locks and cold blue eyes that gave Draco a scathing look.

"Mind your manners, child. It's few there are who are lucky enough to be given the Malfoy name, I'd suggest you respect it." Her voice was heavy with Scottish brogue, and Draco nodded shyly up at her. Her scowl softened slightly and she nodded at him before turning back to his mother.

Draco looked back up at the smirking, dark man and back across the room at Loki, who was obviously mooning at them across the room.

"Why does he keep looking at you like that?"

Salazar said nothing on the subject, but leaned down so far that Draco was almost sure he'd fall out of the frame. "Young Mr. Malfoy. It is always a pleasure to meet those of your line. Tell me, will you be attending my school?"

"Yes, sir. In just a few weeks. I'll be attending with Harry Potter."

The cavern drew immediately silent and then Nereid began to try to get Draco's attention. "How _is_ dear Tommy since that dreadful boy nearly killed him?"

"Who?" Draco asked, and Narcissa let out a forced laugh.

"Sweetheart, we're not here to talk about Harry Potter, okay?"

"But I'll get to meet him and be in his classes and maybe even be his friend and _everything_!"

Maened gasped at Draco's bouncing enthusiasm, but Nyx cut in before anyone could respond. "That's the best idea I've heard in a long while, Draco. Do your best to extend the Malfoy courtesy to him. He may be a powerful ally in the future."

"_Nyx_!" Nereid interrupted, as if Nyx had said something superbly scandalous. "The boy is completely-"

"I'll hear no more on the matter," came a harsh, gravelly voice from the portrait of Daimon Malfoy, adjacent to Loki's. Nereid shut her mouth with a sharp click, and Maened almost looked as if she would protest, but bit her words back. Beside Daimon, Eirene shoved herself further into her seat and brought her book up to cover her face.

Liam took another drink in the silence, and beside him Willis was sending comforting looks at a shocked Nereid. Loki was staring at Draco now, instead of Salazar, and refused to look away.

"Of course, husband," Nyx smiled demurely across the room at Daimon and then the conversations started back up again. Loki's gaze drifted back to Salazar, who met him with an equally intense look. Nyx began to talk to Narcissa again, and Nereid and Willis began to flirt while Maened broke in to insult Nereid every few moments. Liam watched in glee when his nearly empty bottle refilled itself as the magic of the paints brought it back to it's original, full state.

Draco bypassed his mother and stood looking up at the last portrait. In it was a younger man with bright blond hair who looked much like Draco's own father, but obviously wasn't. His hair was unkempt in a way that Lucius Malfoy would never have allowed, but just the same length, and he was bent over a sketch pad, pencil in hand, drawing Draco's mother. 'Evan Malfoy,' gave Draco a name to put to the face of a man who looked almost exactly like his father, and after staring for a moment, Draco turned to walk back to more interesting paintings.

A soft, low voice halted him, Evan having decided to say something to the boy after all. "So you're Draco, hmm?"

"Yes," Draco answered uneasily.

The man looked up from his sketch of Narcissa directly into Draco's eyes. "Why are you here?"

"Mother brought me."

The man smiled slightly and then gestured to the painting of the hidden redhead across from him. "_That_ is my wife. Lovely, isn't she?"

"Father says red hair is nasty and common."

Evan shook his head, amused. "No, it's fiery and beautiful. She's my wild child. Do you want to hear something you won't hear anyone else in this room say in a thousand years?"

Draco raised an eyebrow and leaned close when Evan gestured for him to.

"I love her."

Draco pulled abruptly back and laughed shortly. "Father says there's no such thing as love."

"Isn't there? That's quite a pessimistic view of the world for an eleven-year-old to have." Evan shook his head at Draco again, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice, "You see that man next to her? Daimon Malfoy is the Malfoy who earned this family's fortune. We consider him the first Malfoy, and he has and always will be what our offspring will model themselves after. They will all fail. His son, Loki, the man who opened the door for you and your mother, failed him in that the partner he would have chosen would have ended the Malfoy line before it even began."

"Who?" Draco was actually quite curious, having been given a family history lesson from his father the summer before, and having learnt nothing about Loki's wife. The woman appeared in none of the texts he'd been given to read, though they had mentioned their son, Liam.

"That is a subject for another discussion, young man. Suffice it to say that you would not be standing before me if it weren't for the intervention of Loki's mother, the lovely Nyx."

Nyx looked up from her chatter with Narcissa and smiled at Evan, who smiled back.

"Nyx and Loki's good friend Salazar Slytherin-"

"Is _that_ why he's in our vault?"

"No, child. As I said, that is a subject for another discussion. Nyx had Salazar fashion the Malfoy Ambition in the hope that it would help Loki see what possibilities his future held."

"The Malfoy Ambition?"

"That." Evan pointed to a table in the middle of the circular room, upon which sat a pillow, upon which sat a ring. It was slight and golden, a two-headed snake, one at each end of it's body, twined around a golden band, and each head gripped one side of a large, bright diamond in its mouth.

"It's a ring." Draco supplied the portrait instructing him in Malfoy legacy.

"It is _the_ ring, Draco. The Malfoy engagement ring."

"So?"

"It's not a normal ring, Draco, it has very distinct properties. It helps the heir to the Malfoy fortune choose a suitable bride."

"A _girl_? Mother," Draco whined, bringing Nyx and Narcissa's conversation to a stop, "is _that_ what you brought me here for? To pick out a _girl_?"

"You're not to be trusted to pick out _anything_, Draco. Malfoys for generations after these ancestors have trusted the ring to pick for _them_."

"Now?!"

Narcissa huffed and moved behind her incredulous son, propelling him towards the table. "_Yes_, now. I'm not going to force you to get married _this_ young, Draco, but I want you to make your wish while your father isn't around to screw it up."

"Fine," Draco grabbed for the ring and scowled at his mother, "I wish I didn't have to marry a girl."

There was a moment of stark silence, and then Narcissa began choking as the portraits stared on in horror. "_Draco_, I was thinking we would _discuss_ your wish before you made it! That's not the way it _works_! You have to wish for the qualities that you'd find admirable in a future wife! Like manners and sophistication. You have to wish for a _suitable_ _bride_."

Draco snorted, gripping the ring tighter, "I wish for someone who I could talk to Quidditch about."

__

"Draco! Give me that ring before you make it worse!"

Draco skipped away from his mother, smiling smugly. "I wish for someone who won't bore me, ever."

Narcissa had stopped chasing him for a moment, and was leaning, panting against the wall between Daimon and Loki's portraits, gaping at him where he stood across the room from her between Nyx and Salazar. "Oh, dear God."

"I told you he was too young to see the ring," Loki murmured at her, smiling across the room at Salazar, who shook his head and looked down at Draco in amusement.

"I wish-"

From across the room, Eirene slapped her book down and stood in her portrait, and spoke the first words she'd said the whole afternoon, in a sweet, clear voice that brought a smile to her husband's face. "For true love!"

"-for true love. No, wait..."

Maened screeched, "Eirene! Stop giving the boy ideas!"

Nereid, in the meantime was trying to get Salazar's attention, "Does it grant more than one wish?"

Salazar shrugged, "It's love magic, Nereid. It's tricky."

Nyx scowled at him, "It's not _love_ magic. It's a locator spell. Isn't it?"

"Love magic _and_ a locator spell."

"I can't believe this," muttered Maened. "This is horrific. In all my years, I never-"

"Shut _up_, woman," bellowed her drunken husband, "and if that ring is a form of love magic, I'll eat my shoe!"

The portraits began to argue heatedly, and Draco stared down at the little ring in his hand that had started the whole mess. Before he could utter another word, his mother's voice called a stop to the yelling.

"Shut _up_!"

All the portraits stared at her.

"I can fix this."

Loki snorted.

"I _can_. Draco, give me the ring, honey."

"But, Mum-"

"Don't, 'But, Mum' me, young man. You are in a lot of trouble. Hand me that ring this _instant_."

"Yes, Mum." Draco slunk over to his mother's side and handed her the Ambition. She stared down at it for a moment, then withdrew her wand. She hesitated, and all of a sudden, her wand was once again pressed to his forehead.

"_Obliviate_!" There was a spark of power that brought silence to the room, and then nothing.

Draco blinked, and then his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and then, weakly, "Mum?"

Narcissa nodded shortly and stalked over to the center table to slap the ring down on its pillow. "Why don't you wait out in the caverns with the nice Goblin for Mummy? All right, Draco?"

"But, I thought you were going to show me the _real_ treasure?"

"Perhaps another day."

"But _Mum_! I want to talk to the portraits!"

"Out in the hall _now_, Draco. We'll be late for your appointment at Madam Malkins, and your father is waiting for us there."

"Yes, mother," said Draco sulkily.

Loki's portrait swung open and Draco trudged through it, throwing one last, hopeful look over his shoulder. It swung shut with a clang behind him.

"Are you _insane_?" Maened shrieked at Narcissa.

"Everything will be fine," Narcissa assured the portraits, which were in alternate stages of disbelief and anger.

"This is a _bad_ plan, Narcissa," Nereid intoned.

"It's an _awful_ plan," Loki agreed.

"Shut _up_."

Liam had begun to laugh, which was hard to do as he was also attempting to down another glass of the rich brandy he'd been drinking all afternoon.

"It wasn't a bad wish, as wishes go," Evan offered, not looking up from his wife's heated gaze across the room. "True love isn't a _total_ loss."

Eirene blushed and sat back into her chair to pick up her book again.

Beside Evan, Willis was shaking his head. "But... well, it won't work, will it?"

Everyone stared at him.

"I mean, his wishes will have to cancel each other out, won't they? Unless his true love is a _boy_."

One by one the portraits relaxed, and Narcissa sighed. "Good. Fine. Then, let us never speak of this again, or you'll find yourselves burning on the rubbish pile."

"Narcissa!" came Nyx' shocked voice in reprimand.

"I mean it. Lucius is not to know about this. I wouldn't push me, if I were you. We'll be back in a few years to make the _proper_ wish and find me a daughter-in-law worthy of the Malfoy name."

The portraits exchanged uneasy glances, but Daimon answered for them. "As you wish, Narcissa. But, if I were _you_, I wouldn't threaten us again. Or you'll find there are _consequences_ to your actions. And you'd better hope this works. I, for one, know that it is entirely possible that a son of our line is capable of loving another man."

Narcissa nodded shortly, and Loki swung inward to let her out, wanting to avoid the looks he was sure to be getting from the rest of the portraits.

Short, clipped footsteps sounded in the black anteroom to the Ambition's hiding place, and then the portrait swung closed, and Narcissa had to gather herself before making her way out of the vault.

**

End Chapter

**


	2. Certain Peculiar Portraits

Please see Chapter 1 for Disclaimers and warnings.

**

Chapter 2 – Certain Peculiar Portraits

**

Draco studied his nails in boredom as the Ministry Officials began to question Gringott's current Head Goblin. It would seem that, days before his capture, Lucius Malfoy had been seen leaving the bank toting a rather large brown-paper package. The contents of said package had not yet been confirmed, as Narcissa claimed to have no knowledge of her husband's visit to Diagon Alley that day.

"And so you have no idea what might have been taken?"

"I do not know, nor did I ask. Our customers' business is their own."

The aged Goblin was looking down his nose at the darkly robed official, a woman named Rowena Sprigs. Her hair was jet black, drawn high into a harsh bun, and her nose was long and slightly crooked. Her fingers were slender, tipped with long nails, and she wore no make-up. She was, perhaps, a little too old for field work with the Ministry, but Draco supposed that this was due to the recent overhaul of all of the Ministry's departments. In an effort to stave off his own imminent dismissal by the unsatisfied populace of the Wizarding world, Minister Fudge had quickly vowed at the beginning of the summer to find, and hold accountable, those responsible for hiding the truth of Voldemort's return.

Several Witches and Wizards in the lower rungs of the establishment had immediately been fired, including a few of Fudge's closest advisors.

Draco's musings were cut off when his mother tapped his elbow and motioned for him to follow her.

With a sigh he twisted on his booted foot and trudged after his thankfully silent mother and Rowena Sprigs. Ms. Sprigs' assistant, who'd introduced herself as Tamara Hogg, pushed her designer spectacles up on her nose and followed after them a few moments later. She was currently scribbling notes down in a parchment, and her interest annoyed Draco to no end. She was young, about twenty, and thin and blonde. She had green eyes, not as vivid as _Potter's_, his mind supplied, with a nasty slide on the name of the person he hated most in the world. Her robes were a muted, rich red, and when she walked supple, light tan boots peeked from under the hem. He could have considered her quite pretty, if it weren't for those awful green eyes.

Disgusting.

The trip was shorter than he remembered, but he'd been forced to sit in the second cart with Ms. Hogg while his mother sat with the elder Ministry Official. Narcissa was doing her best to schmooze the elder woman, who was having none of it, and the whole situation further annoyed Draco.

But then, everything annoyed Draco these days.

Leaning into him, finally giving her quill a rest, Tamara Hogg whispered to Draco, "Now that we're alone, I have to ask, Draco. Do you have any idea what your father took from the family vault?" Her eyes skipped up to the cart in front of them, then quickly fell back on him. She smiled encouragingly.

Not bothering to hide his sneer, Draco responded, "No. Maybe you should ask him, since you have him in custody. And don't call me by name."

Her eyes narrowed and her voice pitched up a bit, but softened when Narcissa looked back, "there's no call to be rude, Mr. Malfoy. We're merely trying to get to the bottom of this mystery."

"I can't help you, and I don't know why you think I would. He's my father."

She harrumphed and, with one last glare, went back to scribbling on her scroll. Draco looked over the edge of the cart into the murky darkness. A flash of tail and big, sharp teeth caught his eye, and he raised an eyebrow and focused, trying to get a better look.

The cart gave a lurch as it finally came to a stop in front of a familiar vault door, and Draco waited patiently as Ms. Hogg disembarked. The Goblin who'd accompanied them held his light aloft and Narcissa marched forth, smiling winningly at Ms. Sprigs.

"I'll have the vault open in just a moment, but remember, there's a visual charm on the treasure. Lucius," she paused, and then her smile became forced as Ms. Sprigs and Hogg exchanged a knowing look, "wanted to make sure any potential thieves overlooked our vault."

"Indeed," Ms. Sprigs intoned gravelly.

Narcissa stood back as the vault door sprung open.

Turning her wand on herself, Ms. Sprigs performed the revealing spell Narcissa supplied her with and then performed it on her assistant.

Narcissa motioned for the young Goblin to remain outside and then smiled winningly at Ms. Sprigs, "after you."

Draco kicked aside a stack of galleons as he waited for the two officials to finish looking through the items in their vault. He tried to ignore the questions being thrown around over his family's every possession, tried to ignore his mother's pandering and sunny smile, tried to ignore looks he got from Ms. Hogg every time he picked something up, and _really_ tried to ignore the lies that occasionally popped out of his Narcissa's mouth.

"There's no magic done on that particular vase, as far as I know," was the latest, and Ms. Sprigs nodded, replacing the object and giving Narcissa a questioning look.

"Is this all of it?"

"Yes," was Narcissa's quick reply, but Draco, smirking, interrupted her.

"No, there's another room."

Narcissa scowled at him, but Ms. Hogg smiled encouragingly once more. Sighing inwardly, Draco made his way back to the empty cupboard and tapped on the back wall of it with his wand.

Ms. Sprigs gave Narcissa hard look before lighting her wand and stepping into the darkness. Ms. Hogg followed her through and Narcissa came after, throwing a dark look at her son as she passed by him.

They stood before Loki's portrait for a moment in silence before Ms. Hogg turned to Narcissa.

"This is it?"

"Ye-"

"This is the doorway to the next chamber. There should be a painting here, though," Draco murmured, studying the empty portrait. Loki was nowhere in sight, and the bookcase in the background was in disarray. Books were strewn all over the painted carpet, some sprawled open and some tossed in a pile together. "Loki?"

There was a stirring in the paint, and then a hand reached over and grasped the edge of the desk. Loki Malfoy pulled himself into the painting, hair wild, right hand wrapped around a decanter of what appeared to be Port, and growled at them, "What?"

Narcissa stepped back in shock as the two other ladies exchanged looks. Draco cocked his head to the side before shaking it in confusion, "Loki? Will you let us in?"

Loki squinted at him, then blinked a few times and straightened up, "Draco? Little Draco?"

"You remember me?"

"Of course I remember you. It was an unforgettable visit." He drew short of explaining at Narcissa's cold look, which Draco missed, and then sighed. "Right. Come on, then."

The portrait swung open abruptly and a smooth male voice spilled out of the interior cave.

"-think it's about time we did something!"

"Visitors!" A feminine voice sounded in warning, and silence descended.

Narcissa led the group into the circular cavern and introduced the women with them to the rest of the nine portraits. The space across from Loki was bare, Narcissa affirming that it had always been that way as Loki scowled at her after swinging shut behind them. Beside the empty space was Nyx Malfoy, wife of Damien who was placed beside Loki and directly across from her. Then there was Evan Malfoy, the youngest Malfoy heir to be placed in the cave, across from his wife Eirene. Willis came next, across from Nereid, and lastly, there was Liam, scowling at Loki and directly across from his wife, the harsh Maened.

Draco had done a lot of studying into his family's history, and turned on Loki. "Why isn't your wife hanging across from you?"

Ms. Sprigs and Ms. Hogg looked immediately interested, but Loki took another drink and waved a hand. "She wasn't painted."

"Why not? You know, I've heard almost nothing about her... I haven't even read her name-"

"I don't want to talk about it. Now, what are you all doing here? Going to make yourself a wish and get a bride?" It was sneered at him, but behind Draco, Ms. Hogg gasped and immediately perked up.

"This is where the Malfoy Ambition is kept! Oh! I've read so much about it! Is it true that it actually chooses each generation of Malfoy brides?"

Narcissa smiled winningly, "only for the Malfoy heir. Draco's going to be using it next year. Or... that was the plan," she trailed off and Draco rolled his eyes as Ms. Sprigs tutted in sympathy.

"It must be so hard, discovering your husband was working so closely with the Dark Lord. Helping him recover and bringing him back into the Wizarding world-"

Nereid screeched, interrupting the conversation, "Tommy's back?!"

Coughing, Nyx drew attention from the skimpy blonde. "Lucius was working for the enemy? I don't believe it. Have you proof?"

Ms. Sprigs drew herself up sharply and sniffed at Nyx, "of course we have proof. We wouldn't have imprisoned him if we were in any doubt as to his involvement with the Dark Lord."

"Azkaban?" gasped Maened, and from where he stood Draco's hand wrapped into a fist and his teeth clenched.

"But he was just here," Willis argued, and Narcissa groaned. Ms. Hogg and Ms. Sprigs immediately focused their attention on Willis.

"You saw him? Did you see him remove anything from this vault?"

"I really don't think-" Narcissa tried to interrupt, but Ms. Sprigs glared at her.

"Um..." Willis exchanged looks with his grandmother, Nyx, who looked to be holding her breath.

From behind Draco, Loki's voice interrupted them. "Salazar Slytherin."

"I beg your pardon?" Ms. Sprigs turned on him.

Loki gestured at the empty wall across from him, "a portrait of Salazar Slytherin hung there, and Lucius took it."

Narcissa hissed at him, and Loki smirked at her. Ms. Sprigs turned to the angry woman with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you said there'd never been a portrait there."

Narcissa scowled at Loki before her face cleared and she shrugged nonchalantly. "I haven't been here for a while. I must have forgotten about it."

It was clear she wasn't believed (and who would forget a portrait of Salazar Slytherin was in their vault?), and Ms. Hogg's scribbling started up furiously.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I have attempted to be as accommodating as possible. I was feeling very sympathetic to your situation. Finding yourself a single mother and discovering that your husband is a criminal was, I felt, rather traumatic enough for you. However," her face darkened, "I get the feeling you've been lying to me. As of Monday afternoon the contents of the Malfoy vault will be property of the Ministry of Magic, and each and every item will be tested for traces of the Dark Arts."

"What?!" Narcissa screeched, "You can't do that! We'll be penniless!"

"I'm sure you'll manage," Ms. Sprigs murmured, and then turned to her assistant. "Tamara, make a note that we need to have the paperwork drawn up for the seizure of all property belonging to the Malfoy estate." She threw a scathing look at Narcissa, "I'm sure that once the Minister gets wind of this, he'll want to have a look at the Manor as well."

"You heartless bitch!" Narcissa was spluttering at this point, but Ms. Sprigs ignored her and turned to Loki's portrait.

"I believe we're done here. Thank you for your help."

With a wave of her hand, the portrait swung open and the two officials stepped through and made their way out of the vault. Narcissa stood for a moment, chest heaving, indignant, before rounding on her son.

"You!" she stepped quickly to him. "'No, there's another room,'" she mimicked, "we could have avoided this entirely! What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking, Mother, that lying to the authorities was a bad idea. And, it seems I was correct."

"Don't speak to me in that tone of voice, young man! You've been insufferable ever since you returned from that school! I'm under a lot of stress, Draco, and I need you to support me!"

"Support you?" He was yelling now, "You've just lost my inheritance! Father's been arrested! The family name has been blackened almost beyond recognition! When was the last time you were invited to a social event?"

The vehemence of his outburst took Narcissa aback, and the pictures began to exchange uneasy looks. Damien looked coldly on as Mother and Son argued.

"We're thinking of your future, Draco!" Narcissa shouted back, "Once Lord Voldemort takes control, the Malfoys will be held as royalty-"

"Takes control!" Draco interrupted, "Are you insane? The man was nearly killed by a baby. He's since been beaten by that same child five years in a row. His plans have been foiled at every turn, and you and father still follow after him and simper like idiots!"

Narcissa hissed out a breath and straightened up, "I don't have to listen to this, Draco-"

"I rather think, Narcissa, that the boy has a point," Damien interrupted her, voice cold. "It sounds as if you and Lucius have made choices which have done more to bring ruin to our family than any other generation of Malfoy."

"Shut up! I don't have to listen to you! You're a portrait! And you," she rounded on Draco, "are my son. Take a moment, Draco, to gather yourself. I'll be waiting in the other vault."

Draco scowled at nothing as his mother moved swiftly past him, waiting until he heard Loki's portrait swing shut before letting his breath out. His hand balled back up into a fist and he brought it down roughly on the table in the center of the cavern, barely noticing as the Ambition tumbled to the floor, covered by its plush, red pillow.

When his anger finally abated, Draco knelt and picked up the fallen objects, replacing first pillow, then ring. He paused and ran his right index finger over the large diamond, sighing.

He then turned on his boot and exited the room.

His mother didn't look at him when he entered the main vault, merely motioned for him to close the Ambition's entrance and swept from the room. Draco settled silently in the boat next to her. She stared straight ahead, not acknowledging him, and he felt his anger flag.

"I'm sorry."

She stiffened and continued to look forward at Ms. Sprigs and Ms. Hogg.

"I really am sorry, Mum."

"Draco," she sighed, relaxing but still not looking at him, "I understand that you're angry. You have every right to be. But you must understand that everything I've done, I've done because I love you. Your father loves you too. You'll see, Draco. Things will be fine."

She didn't look over at him during her discourse, focusing on a point somewhere above Ms. Sprigs' shoulder.

He looked away, eyes lowering, and then leaned into his mother's warmth. He wished that he could believe her.

A moment later, he felt a soft kiss pressed against the top of his head and he smiled slightly. "Well, they won't be closing our vault until Monday, according to Ms. Sprigs. Let's go shopping. It'll make us feel better."

§ § §

There was silence in the cavern, and then the clink of a decanter against a glass tumbler.

"I think," Damien said, "that it is high time we did something about this situation."

Looking up from his sketch, Evan narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that _now_ is the best time to interfere? There's so much going on..."

"Narcissa has crossed me for that last time, and I've warned her often enough to watch her mouth around me," Damien firmly returned. "And I'm sure my son would like to see Salazar again."

Loki paused in the middle of tossing back his drink, then shrugged, setting it down without draining it. "I suppose that it's obvious that I miss him."

Nereid giggled, and Eirene smiled brightly at Loki.

Damien nodded shortly, and then met his wife's eyes, raising an eyebrow, "Darling?"

In her portrait, Nyx smiled slowly, darkly, and extended a hand toward the empty room. A slender finger pressed against the air and, after a slight push, solidified into flesh from paint. Her left hand curled around the gilded frame, thumb transforming to flesh, as her right arm extended out into the empty air. Soon she was stepping from the portrait and straightening her clothes, exchanging a viciously smug look with her husband. She turned to Evan's portrait and ran her fingers along the base, then took a turn around the room until she'd touched every portrait. Soon, the Malfoy family began to emerge from their portraits in the same manner, all save Loki.

Evan hugged his wife and kissed the top of her head. Willis and Nereid exchanged a heated kiss. Liam and Maened scowled at each other. Damien extended his arm to Nyx. "Come, family. Let us see what we can do."

They lined up in front of Loki's portrait and he backed up into it, dragging his decanter off to the side and sweeping low into a welcoming bow. Each Malfoy stepped over the edge of the frame and into Loki's portrait, making their way to his bookcase. As Liam passed Loki, he grabbed the nearly empty decanter from his father's loose grip. Once they were all gathered within, Loki selected a book from one of the few still left upon the shelf and tipped it back. The bookcase slid over to reveal a black hole and Damien led his family into it. Loki was the last to walk through the painting's secret exit, looking back into the Ambition's little vault and smirking, and then the bookcase slid shut after him.

Silence fell in the vault, and soon the room darkened with no presence there to ensure it remained lit. And so, there was no one to see that night as the Malfoy Ambition shimmered out of reality, bursting into sparks of blue and gold light, disappearing into nothing.

§ § §

It was night again, deep and dark, and Harry couldn't see the stars. He rode lazily on the wind, circling the empty field, feeling nothing of the happiness that being in the air usually brought him. There were no cheers, no teammates, no bludgers and no quaffles. There was no hint of laughter in the breeze and no thrill of joy with every dip and swirl he made through the night sky.

There was a movement, sharp and fleeting, in the corner of his eye, and Harry whirled on the grandstands. There in the shadows, stood a figure. Harry could barely make out... something familiar in the face of his audience. A hand stretched from the shadows... fingers wrapped around a golden ball. Fluttering, snow-white wings peeked out from between the man's fingers.

"Harry..."

It was spoken in a strong, familiar voice, and Harry froze, breath flying out of him on a whisper, "... Sirius?"

"Harry..."

"Sirius!" his broom jolted forward at his shout, and Harry was flying faster than he'd ever flown before. The wind whipped around his ears, his Quidditch robes flapping behind him. "Sirius! You're alive!"

But no matter how fast he flew, the grandstands weren't any closer. "Sirius!" Harry shouted once more, "what is this?"

Suddenly the wind was sucked from around him and Sirius' voice was whispering in his ear, "This, Harry, is your destiny..."

Sirius' outstretched hand uncurled from the snitch and it paused there for a moment, hovering inches over his palm. There was a loud crack as if lightening had struck and then the snitch was flying straight for Harry.

Hitting his forehead with a whack, the colliding object caught him off balance and he tumbled to the pitch below.

With a groan, Harry sat up. There was a soft fluttering against his cheek, and he absently reached his left hand up to grab at the Snitch. With his right hand he rubbed forehead, eyes opening in a painful wince. The Snitch settled into his grip and wrapped its wings around itself, beginning to pulse a shimmering blue. The gold ball began to melt in his hand, and Harry gaped at it as the wings refracted from feathers to pure light. Soon, a pool of liquid gold slithered through his fingers as the soft, white light hovered in the air where the Snitch had been.

The streams of molten gold ran down his arm and began to drip from his elbow, each drop of gold blinking into golden sparks of light before fizzling out. Soon, the only gold on his arm was pooled around his left ring finger, and it began to harden and take shape. Two tiny, delicate snake heads formed at each end of the band and Harry lifted his hand slightly to get a better look. The still hovering white light sharpened then, and solidified into... crystal? Glass? Diamond. Each snake head took one side of the hovering diamond in its gentle grip, and finally the ring settled down onto Harry's finger.

"Sirius?" Harry whispered in confusion, then his head shot up to search the grandstands eagerly for a sign of his Godfather.

There was no one.

Looking back down at the ring around his finger, Harry became entranced by the moonlight reflected in the diamond, and nearly didn't hear his name being called...

"Harry..."

"... Harry..."

"Boy! Get down here! Breakfast is almost ready, and you have chores to do before lunch!"

Harry slammed upright in his bed, blinking rapidly, trying to see past the blur. His eyes struggled to focus, and in the end he gave up squinting and reached for his glasses on the little table beside his bed. His fingers reached up under the thick frames to rub the sleep from his eyes, which narrowed in confusion at the dull clink of plastic against metal.

Gold.

Gold and diamond.

Finally, his sleep weary eyes focused, and then stared in incomprehension at the ring upon his finger.

**

End Chapter

**


	3. Loving His Attitude Problems

Please see chapter one for disclaimers and warnings.

Author's Note: I apologize for the length of time this chapter took, and I'm going to blame it on my move from one state to another at the beginning of this month. I assure you that subsequent chapters will be out at _least_ every other week. This chapter is dedicated to my roomie Meg who, thank goodness, allowed me to bounce ideas off of her for a whole evening last weekend so that I could get this done. Also partially dedicated to Alex, who got to read everything yesterday and give me feedback. Also, if you'd like to be e-mail upon the update of this story, leave your e-mail address in review, or e-mail it to goddesbluewriter@netscape.net.

**

Chapter 3 – Loving His Attitude Problems

**

Fuzzily confused, Harry's gaze didn't waver for a long moment.

There was a ring where before there had been none.

This was odd.

It was a golden snake; _Snake bad_, Harry's mind supplied; that had twisted itself around a slender golden band. The snake had two heads, and each one viciously grabbed an end of a rather large diamond.

Harry didn't really know diamonds from glass, but…

It was a big diamond.

That was on his finger.

This… was… 

For a brief moment Harry considered going back to sleep. Shaking his head to clear it of cobwebs, he examined the ring more closely. It was faintly girlish, obviously made for a dainty hand, which Harry did not have, but it fit his finger perfectly.

His nose scrunched up in confusion and he reached his right hand up to remove the ring from his left ring finger in order to bring it closer for a more detailed look.

It didn't budge.

His brow furrowed in concentration and he gripped harder.

He pulled again and, much to his dismay, the ring did not move.

Sighing, and inwardly forcing himself not to panic, Harry slipped out of bed and ignored his newest piece of jewelry. He threw on some ratty old clothes and softly padded out of his room and down the stairs until he reached the kitchen. Disregarding his Uncle's gruff "It's about time," Harry walked to the sink and turned on the warm water. He thrust his left hand under the stream for a moment, yawning over the scrape of a chair against the peeling linoleum.

"What have you got there?" his Aunt muttered, bringing a plate to the sink to rinse free and stack with the other breakfast dishes. Narrowed eyes watched as Harry pulled his hand back to his chest, dripping on the floor.

Lax fingers permitted her plate to crash into pieces in the sink as she gaped in wonder at the diamond on her nephew's finger.

Harry looked up at the sound of breaking china, momentarily giving up trying to remove the ring.

__

"Where did you get that?!"

There was a moment of silence, and then the scrape of two more chairs as Vernon and Dudley rushed to their sides. Harry made a sound of irritation as his hand was locked in Dudley's firm grip and he was pulled nearly a foot towards the rotund boy.

Vernon mirrored his wife's shocked outrage. "Boy, where did you get something like that? Did you steal it?" His face began to turn purple as he began to rage at Harry. "We take you into our home, and this is how your repay us? You become a thief? A pickpocket!"

"No-"

Dudley snorted, "It's a girl's ring, too! The Nancy boy's wearing a _girl's_ ring."

"_No_," Harry interrupted, "I did not _steal _it. I just… woke up and it was there," his sentence died down in volume as he completed it and realized how weak of an excuse it had sounded. He fervently wished that he had hid his hand when arriving in the kitchen.

"A likely story-"

"But it _is_ a girl's ring, then?"

"It's an _engagement_ ring!" Petunia shouted, beginning to fan herself. "Oh! Whoever lost this is probably worrying herself silly!"

Vernon grabbed Harry's hand from Dudley and began working at the ring. "Doesn't seem to want to… ummph… come off, does it? Well, boy? Where did you get it?"

"I _told_ you, I just woke up with it on this morning- ow! Would you _stop_?"

Letting Harry's hand fall in frustration Vernon glared at him as Petunia moved to take it up and stare at the jewelry in question. "Do you expect us to believe you… sleep walked your way out to some poor woman and stole her ring off her? You didn't burgle someone's home, did you?"

"No, actually. I suspect it was _given_ to me by magic."

Petunia dropped his hand quickly and all three of them took a step back from him at the foul word.

Vernon's face took a quick turn back to frustrated purple from the red it had mellowed into and he pointed towards the stairs, "Back to your room, boy. Now!"

Harry shrugged, inwardly pleased at the thought of not having to do his chores that day, and trudged out of the kitchen. Behind him, Dudley had pulled himself together enough to aim one last insult his way.

"Poof!"

§ § §

Harry stared down at his parchment, wincing at the words he'd just left there:

****

Herm,

Oddest thing happened last night. Had another dream. But I don't think it was from Voldemort as my scar didn't give a twinge. Sirius was in it. He gave me a ring, and when I woke up this morning I was wearing it. I've been informed by my Aunt Petunia that it's an engagement ring. It's golden, with two snakes and a large diamond.

What do you suppose that means?

Harry

At best, the words would make Hermione frantically search through what books she had for some mention of the ring. At worst… she'd be worried. A ring that was passed to him through his dreams?

Dreams and Harry were things that made Hermione worry already.

He crumbled up the paper and threw it in his bin, patting Hedwig's head as she tutted in annoyance when she realized he wasn't going to need her to take his letter anywhere.

Harry picked up his quill and tried again:

****

Ron,

Had a dream last night. Sirius was in it. Gave me a ring, which was still there when I woke up. It looks pretty… expensive.

What do you suppose that means?

Harry

Even less helpful. What was Ron supposed to tell him, other than to write Hermione or Dumbledore? He'd probably write back that it was one of Voldemort's evil plans.

For all Harry knew, it might be.

He crumbled up this paper as well and tossed it into his bin, then scribbled out two notes of about the same intent:

****

No trouble here. Can't wait to see you after the Summer hols are over.

Harry

He gave them to Hedwig, with another pat on the head and whispered instructions.

She flew out the window, and he grabbed one of his textbooks, determined this year at least to catch up on his studies _before_ the school year started up again.

§ § §

Narcissa Malfoy was Owled Tuesday morning with news that would change her life. It seemed that, during their preliminary search of the Malfoy vault, everything had been in order for the ministry team. Almost.

In the anteroom, not a single listed Malfoy treasure had been missing, but when they attempted to travel to the Malfoy Ambition's hidden vault, they discovered that the listed portrait of Loki Malfoy had been missing it's subject. After prying the vault door open anyway, they found that the other portraits were in a similar, unexplainable condition. They were writing to ask for one.

Also, the item that had been housed there was missing.

The Malfoy Ambition.

She'd had to re-read the letter twice to make sure her eyes had not been deceiving her, and then she screamed for Draco.

He entered their hotel room's breakfast nook with that same, permanent scowl on his face.

"Yes, Mother?"

"What did you do with the Ambition?"

Draco's brows drew together. "Nothing, Mother. Why?"

"It's missing."

"Missing?"

She could tell he was genuinely confused. "Gone." She waved her letter around and then gestured to the seat across from her. "As if it vanished in the night."

"Can it do that?" he asked, sitting.

"Well, yes. But only if you do something to it. Did you do something to it when I left you alone in the vault, Draco?"

"Like what?"

"Like… make a wish?"

Draco smirked into the piece of toast he'd taken from her breakfast plate. "I wouldn't dare. The first time you and Father took me there to see it you spent an hour telling me how serious that particular family tradition was, and then didn't even let me _touch_ it. Remember? You were almost… paranoid about it." He chuckled. "You must have thought I'd pick it up and wish for something completely shocking."

Narcissa stared at the crumbs on her plate for a moment, uncomfortable, before smiling brightly at her son. "Quite. You… didn't wish on it, did you Draco?"

"No. Well…" and it was his turn to shift uncomfortably, which Narcissa saw.

She instantly lost her appetite and began to wish that she hadn't had so much at dinner the previous night.

"I did knock it off the table." He looked at her, abashed. "I'm sorry, I was still a bit angry, and… it fell, but I only picked it up and put it right back. No wishes were made."

She stared back at him.

"I swear, Mother."

"That's… oh dear."

"Mother?"

He'd dropped his toast and leaned in, concerned at her blank expression.

"Draco?"

"Mother?"

"I think… we had best prepare ourselves."

"For what?"

She pulled herself back from the table and fiddled with the edge of her letter, wearing it down. Her thoughts returned to the day that her son had last touched the Malfoy Ambition, and she came to the obvious conclusion that she was rather in a lot of trouble.

And that her son was probably gay.

"Oh. For a… wedding."

His hand fell with a thump to the table between them and he gaped at her in astonishment. "That's not how you told me the ring works. Don't I have to make a wish on it first before it goes off to pick a bride?"

"Supposedly," she quickly looked away from him. "Perhaps you made a wish subconsciously? Perhaps… well… it's not as if we know an awful lot about the Ambition. It's not as if Nyx Malfoy and Salazar Slytherin left behind _notes_, which might have been helpful. Perhaps it simply chooses who it feels is best for the role of a Malfoy bride?"

"But…" he was chewing on his lip, which she'd told him to stop doing years ago, and thrumming his fingers nervously on the table top. "I'm too _young_ to get married! Mother!"

"Nonsense, Draco. Your father and I were married right out of Hogwarts. Yes. You'll just be engaged for a few years first. It will be beneficial to all involved."

"Why don't we just _ask_ Nyx and Salazar, as we have their portraits conveniently located in our vault?" The anger was building in his voice again now, and caused Narcissa to level an annoyed look at him.

"Three reasons. One: The _Ministry_ has their portraits conveniently located in our vault. Two: They are _portraits_, Draco, merely paint and nothing more. Three: No, we don't."

She handed him her letter and he gave her a searching look before reading it over. Irritated, he dropped the letter onto his plate.

"Why can't we assume the ring has been stolen?" There was a pleading note in that sentence almost as if he'd prefer that a priceless heirloom that had been in their family for generations would be stolen to having to be married.

She wondered why his reactions to the idea of marriage were so much the same as they had been in youth.

"Nothing has been stolen from Gringotts since it was built, Draco. Also, it's a ring, and a highly identifiable one at that. Who would be stupid enough to wear it in public without fear of getting caught, or even try to sell it?"

Petulantly, with narrowed eyes, he argued on, "that young official was looking at it as if she wanted it."

"She probably did. It would honor any woman to be given the ring."

Draco snorted, "except then she'd have had to marry me, and I got the feeling she didn't like me at all."

"Nonsense, Draco. She doesn't have to like you to marry you."

Draco stared at her for a moment, and then remembered to scowl, "could we go back to the part where I don't want to get married?"

Narcissa shook her head and offered a weary smile. "Perhaps it will provide a distraction from those affairs of your father's that have everyone so worked up."

For a moment, Draco thought that his mother seemed fragile and weak, qualities he'd never seen her display, and it made him uncomfortable, his anger weakening. His parents had begun this previous year to prove themselves fallible and he wasn't liking it one bit. His father was supposed to be powerful, intelligent, and above all of the other Wizards in their communities. His mother was supposed to be beautiful, clever, and supportive.

They were falling short of expectations.

"Maybe," he offered, and watched as she brightened.

"I think it's a brilliant thing to happen, Draco." Assuming everything went swimmingly, and those wishes her son had made so long ago had canceled each other out, as Willis had suggested at the time. "Besides, it's the best explanation we have to give to the Ministry. I'll Owl the Prophet right now," she stood to leave the room, having never been one to hesitate or back down from a challenge. Even if that damned ring picked someone unsuitable or shocking for her son, she would prefer to be gossiped about for _that_, rather than their political ties.

"Wait… don't you think we're moving a bit too fast, Mum?" Draco was standing to follow her out, but Narcissa wasn't listening. "Mum?"

§ § §

Girls everywhere were looking at him. Hiding behind their hands and whispering. Giggling. Doing that thing with their eyes and their hair and their high, squeaky voices when they were trying to be sexy.

For most of the summer he'd been expecting to return to Hogwarts amidst a hundred weighty, suspicious glances. He'd been expecting cruel whispers and loaded statements. Jibes into his family's affairs and a restrained distance from the other students.

"Hi, Draco!"

He walked right past the girl he'd never seen before and desperately wished that everyone still hated him.

Ever since that article had been posted in the Prophet, he'd received Owl after Owl from girls who'd never seen him or even heard of him before the story had broken. _Oh, it's so romantic._ He'd read over and over. _After that dreadful business with your father, and now you get this chance to find your true love._

True love.

What a joke.

The story seemed to give the impression that the ring picked, not a _suitable_ Malfoy bride, but instead the perfect woman for Draco Malfoy. Which, in teenage girl speak translated to: TRUE LOVE.

Yes. Draco Malfoy was now a Wizarding World teen idol.

And he hated it.

Perhaps in years past he'd have reveled in the attention. Even now a small part of him gleefully screamed, _I am perfection, and everybody wants me!_ But, and more importantly in his opinion, _everyone_ also seemed to be suffering from random bouts of stupidity.

He watched in boredom as his trunk was loaded onto the Hogwarts train and cringed when several girls began to crowd around him.

"Oh, Draco, we heard all about it!" Lavender Brown sidled up beside him, and beside her the Patil sisters smirked at him.

"Yeah, Draco! It's _so_ exciting." Parvati jumped in, "You must be thrilled. The rest of us have to date and meet people, but _you_ get magical assistance in finding your true love. You must be so nervous. What do you think she'll be like?"

"She'll be beautiful. I was so disappointed when I read the story and realized you were off the market," Padma lamented.

__

I'll bet. Draco mused.

"Thank Merlin." Came a voice he hadn't expected to be mixed in with these twits.

"Granger!" He whirled on her and felt a vicious smile flow over his features, "Lovely to see you, mudblood. Were you hoping to be my perfect match too? You must be so disappointed."

"Hardly," she snorted, then sneered back at him. He took a moment to notice that she'd grown up a bit. Might even be considered attractive, if you were into snobbish harpies who always had to be right. And Gryffindors. "I'll just bet your perfect match is the vapid useless sort, snobbish and stupid. Like you."

Draco's anger picked up a bit, and he felt his cheeks redden, but she turned on her heel and walked away before he could say anything.

Didn't stop him from yelling after her.

"At least she's not going to be a buck-toothed, frizzy haired, _muggle-born_ know it all!"

She didn't answer him, and when he looked back to Lavender and the Patil sisters, he had to smile sheepishly at their glares.

"My father's a muggle," Lavender hissed, turning on her heel and walking away from him. The Patil sisters exchanged looks and ran after her, Parvati throwing a glare back at Draco in rebuke for her housemate.

Draco felt content again.

§ § §

Harry ducked his head to avoid whatever possible stares he was getting and wished desperately that his cloaks came with hoods. He pushed his cart ahead with his hip, carefully concealing his left hand in the folds of his robes, and easily evaded any suspicious or concerned looks.

Which made him suspicious and concerned.

Considering the situation in which he'd last seen many of his fellow students, he'd been expecting questions. He'd been expecting pleas. And most of all, he'd been expecting attention.

He peeked out at the train deck from under his bangs.

No one was looking at him.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Harry made his way to load up his trunk, and then forced his way past the throngs of students onto the train.

"... so romantic…"

"… engaged?"

Snatches of conversation flew by him, and he noticed that many of the boys on the train looked to be a strange mix of bored and frustrated. The girls all seemed to be giggling and gossiping, which wasn't _that_ strange, considering that they were girls. Harry was pleased with himself to be making a clean getaway, until he, looking down at his floppy old sneakers, bumped into somebody.

"Watch where you're going… Potter." Draco Malfoy had turned to him, and for a moment the world froze. Harry had the sense of being in a movie, finally face to face with his own personal villain, ready for the battle to begin.

The corner of Draco's mouth kicked up in a smirk.

So much for the clean getaway.

"Lovely day, isn't it, Boy Wonder? Did you think that the whole train belonged to you?"

"Very funny, Malfoy. Just passing through. Excuse me."

"Where do you think you're going, Potter? Off to gossip with the Mudblood and the Weasel? I think you need to apologize to me first. It was very rude of you to go bumping into me like that."

"I have better things to do than standing around arguing with you, Malfoy." The irritation in Harry's voice was beginning to become apparent.

Draco shifted, sneering now at Harry, using this opportunity to vent the frustration of the last few weeks.

They were also drawing a bit of a crowd.

"Why? Is the Weasel going to be jealous that you're spending so much time with me?"

"I doubt it," Harry tried to affect a breezy tone, hoping to cut this conversation short. "Ron knows I have better taste than that."

Draco's cheeks pinked in anger, this being the second time a member of the dream team had gotten one over on him in the same day. He moved to cut off Harry's retreat, pressing a finger into the middle of the shorter boy's chest and pushing him back a few steps. He barely noticed when Harry made an aborted attempting to brush his hand off with his left hand.

Draco was determined to get the last word.

"You could only hope to dream that I would be your friend. You and the Weasel both. You know, jealousy is not an attractive look for you."

"Conceit isn't very pretty on you either. You'd think that since you've had so much practice with it, you'd have perfected it by now." Harry had given up trying to get away, his anger having finally been picked by Draco.

"And one would think that with all the practice you've had being a hero, you'd be able to save someone once in a while."

Draco had only heard a little bit about the circumstances concerning his father's arrest, but knew enough to know that someone had died. Someone on Potter's side.

He watched with sick pride as Harry's face grew pale and slightly green.

"Watch your mouth, Malfoy."

"Going to teach me a lesson, Potter?"

There was a moment of silence, and those who'd been watching them on the sidelines took a step back when Harry's fingers wrapped tightly around his wand. "I think that I've taught your family a lesson already this year. Are you so eager to follow in your father's footsteps?"

Draco's throat visibly clenched, and he felt the presence of Crabbe and Goyle shift behind him. He shook his head, and he felt them ease back again.

He wanted to handle this on his own.

"That's brave of you, bringing my father up now. Exactly what you'd expect of a Gryffindor. Brave stupidity."

"That's low and dirty of you, bringing up Sirius now. Exactly what you'd expect of a Slytherin."

"Of course," Draco drawled, ignoring Harry's last insult, "you never had any parents to teach you differently. I suppose you can be forgiven."

Harry sucked in his breath, suddenly hating Draco right back with more intensity than he'd ever hated anyone before in his life, including Dudley. "And you've had two parents all your life… well," he smirked, unintentionally mirroring Draco's previous cold expression, "up until now. You'd think they'd have taught you manners."

Stiffening at the insult, Draco hissed out, "Mother always said not to waste the fine china on people who are incapable of appreciating it."

"I'm 'incapable of appreciating' a lot of things about you, Malfoy. Your friends, for one," Harry sent a cold look to Crabbe and Goyle, who attempted to sneer back at him, "your _personality_, for another," and then he caught a movement behind Draco's lackeys, and a stormy dark face approaching them at high speeds. Smirking, he finished with a well placed, "and your girlfriend. Speak of the devil…"

"Draco _Malfoy_!"

Almost imperceptibly, Draco winced. "I _hate_ you," he hissed.

Harry kept up his smirk, before turning to leave, "so you've mentioned, once or twice."

He was gone a moment later, and Draco was turning back to smile winningly at the girl who'd been attempting to win his affections for years now.

"Pansy."

"Don't 'Pansy' me, Draco. When were you planning to mention this _marriage_ business to me?"

"Pansy, darling," he tried to placate her, "it wasn't supposed to happen for another year."

"So you were just going to string me along then?"

The crowd became even more interested in this particular conversation, and Draco was inwardly wincing. Then he had a bit of a paranoid thought. "Pansy, may I see your hands?"

Her face cleared a bit, and she brightened, bringing her hands forward at just the right distance for him to take into his own.

He turned them both over, and then, relieved, said, "Thank Merlin."

Her eyes widened, and her smile dropped, her face closing off. He realized his mistake a moment before she backhanded him.

"Don't ever speak to me again, you pig," she hissed, and walked away.

§ § §

Harry slumped into the seat across from Ron, who brightened considerably.

"Harry!" his face dropped at Harry's glare. "What happened."

"Ran into Malfoy."

"The git. He said something, didn't he?"

"He always says something. It's not important-"

But Ron was already beginning to rant. "You'd think it'd be enough, with everyone talking about him all summer long. He just has to be the center of attention all the time, doesn't he?"

"Well-"

"I mean, first the thing with his father-"

"-yes-"

"And _now_, with that stupid-"

At this moment the car door slid open and Hermione regally made her way into their midst. Ron stopped speaking immediately, and stared at her. She'd grown up over the hols… again. And Harry watched in amusement as Ron became fascinated with their best friend.

"Ron," she inclined her head, "Harry." She sent Harry a quick smile and settled in next to a reddening Ron. "Have you heard the news about Malfoy?"

Ron nearly growled. "More news about Malfoy? No thank you."

"Oh, trust me, you'll like this one. Apparently, Pansy Parkinson just slapped him."

Harry perked up and Ron looked almost as if Christmas had come early. "Really," he breathed.

"Oh, yes, really." Hermione leaned in close to Ron, and seemed pleased with herself.

"Was she wearing rings?" Ron asked, still breathy.

"_That_ was the problem," Hermione smirked, "she wasn't."

"Excuse me, ladies," Harry interrupted. "We have other problems than Draco Malfoy." He finally pulled his left hand from the folds of his robes, jerking his long sleeve back down to his wrist in irritation. He looked down at the ring on his finger, missing the looks of horrific disbelief that were written across his best friends' faces.

"Now," he said, almost businesslike. This _wasn't_ the first time something strange had happened to them, and they'd worked out a certain routine to getting to the bottom of their problems. "I had a dream a few weeks ago, and Sirius was in it. I was flying on the Quidditch Pitch-"

Ron turned his shocked look on Hermione, who made a lost sound in the back of her throat.

"-and _then_ he said, 'It's your destiny, Harry'. And the snitch just _flew_ at me-"

Hermione turned to look at Ron, wishing she could deny what was happening for him. "Um… Harry…"

"-Just a minute, 'Mione. So the snitch kinda melts into this gooey light, and flows down my hand, and when I wake up this ring is there. And it won't come off. And I _think_ it's a diamond. But it must mean _something_, right? Do you think it's really from Sirius, guys? Guys?"

"Harry." Hermione struggled to form a coherent sentence, but found her eyes widening again when Ron darted forward to grab Harry's left hand with his own. His right hand slipped down to his boot, and tugged free a switchblade.

"Hold still, Harry. There's nothing for it, he'll have to cut off his finger."

Harry panicked, and tried to pull his hand back from Ron's grasp, "No! No, I think we might have some other option to self-mutilation!"

"I really think self-mutilation is our only answer at this point."

"Freeze, Ronald Weasley. Where on earth did you get that knife?" Hermione gently eased Harry's hand away from Ron, who looked down at his knife, distracted and a bit proud.

"Charlie gave it to me," and then he remembered why he had it out, "but that's not important right now."

"Harry," Hermione cut Ron off, "I don't suppose you've been reading the papers?"

Harry, giving Ron a wary look, shook his head. "No. You know I canceled my subscription last year."

"That's dangerous, Harry. You need to know what's going on."

"What _is_ going on," Harry questioned her. And then his eyes narrowed. "Do I want to know?"

"No." Ron groused, slipping his knife back into his boot. "I think you really don't."

"Ron," Hermione glared at him, and then smiled winningly at Harry. "I think you should know that I love you no matter what, Harry."

"Oh no."

"But… it looks as if you're engaged to Draco Malfoy."

Ron slumped down into his seat and Harry squinted at Hermione. "What?"

**

End Chapter

**


	4. Portents of Doom

See chatper one for disclaimers.

**

Chapter 4 – Portents of Doom

**

"So, what you're saying is that this little piece of jewelry," for emphasis, Harry held his hand up close to Hermione's nose, "is going to _make_ me marry Draco Malfoy?"

"Well," Hermione shifted in her seat opposite Harry and stole a quick look at Ron. "When you put it that way, it sounds _stupid_."

Ron rolled his eyes and played idly with his knife, a subconscious movement he'd been indulging in for the past few hours, which was beginning to make Harry very nervous.

Harry sighed and looked down at his-_Draco's_-ring. "And you say it means I'm…" he swallowed convulsively and shuddered in disgust, "his true love?"

"That's the rumor." Hermione hesitated and then shrugged, "At least, it's what all the girls are saying."

"You know what I think?" Ron interrupted, and hurried on before Hermione could say that she didn't _care_ what he thought, "I think that it's an evil plan, thought up by You-Know-Who, to make Harry marry Malfoy and spend the rest of his life under that git's evil thumb."

"Which git?"

"Vol-," Ron narrowed his eyes, annoyed at almost having been tricked into saying the Dark Lord's name, "You-Know-Who."

"I do?" Harry's voice was amused.

"Well, _I_ think that it would be much too _obvious_ a plan for You-Know-Who to try to pull." Hermione interrupted them, and then smoothed her robes and straightened her Prefect's badge. "Harry could always actually _be_ Malfoy's true love."

Harry made a gagging noise and Ron scoffed at her, "It's not too obvious a plan for _Malfoy_ to pull, though."

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "Do you think he really would?" She turned her look on Harry, her gaze becoming scrutinizing. "But why?"

"So…" Ron trailed off, then frowned, "so he could marry Harry and make the rest of his life miserable?"

Hermione shook her head, "I rather think that they would make _each other's_ lives miserable. I think we have two options here… we can tell Malfoy that _you're_ the one who's got his blasted ring, or we can research. We know practically nothing about the whole thing… and the paper hasn't been exactly clear on how it works."

Harry threw her a sharp look, "I don't plan on having that conversation with Malfoy any time soon."

"I thought that would be how you felt. Well, then. We have to find some way to cover that thing up. It's remarkable that no one saw it."

"I was hiding my hand in the folds of my robe. Besides, my sleeves are still longer than my arms," Harry demonstrated, letting his sleeve drop back over his fingers, falling past his knuckles. "And everyone was looking at Malfoy anyway."

Hermione looked doubtful, "I doubt that it will work for long, but it seems to be our only option for now. I'll look into finding a way to hide it later."

"Research," Ron plastered on a clearly fake smile and settled back into his corner, having sidled away from Hermione halfway through her explanation into Harry's new dilemma, "I love research."

§ § §

Harry's light was on later than all the others that night as the sixth year Gryffindor boys' dorm settled into comfortable silence. Dean snored softly, Neville mewled and turned over in his bed, and Ron's face was smashed into the comforter below his pillow. Seamus silently dozed, shifting every moment or so.

Harry stared into the darkness, breathing shallowly, trying to think past the mental block that had asserted itself at Hermione's insistent, "Engaged. Draco Malfoy."

Logically, he knew that no one could force him to marry Draco Malfoy. He also knew that, if Draco himself were aware of the circumstances, he'd be as disturbed by the possible implications as Harry was.

Still, Harry felt… angry.

For three weeks this ring, up till today, had been like a gift from Sirius. Some kind of revelation from his dead Godfather. It had made the nights go easier. It had even made the nightmares go away. He no longer dreamt painful memories of Sirius' death. He no longer saw Voldemort's face.

It had all become like a memory, unreal.

His eyes felt heavy now, but he was determined to avoid sleep at all costs. He was almost certain his sleep would be interrupted this evening on mere principle. Now that he _knew_ that his ring was nothing but a gaudy Malfoy trinket, there was nothing to reassure him that Sirius was safe. There was nothing to reassure him that his rest would be peaceful that night.

No reason to let his eyes fall heavily closed against the glow of his wand.

A moment later, the glow faded from gold to blue and a breeze picked up through the room. Harry stirred, fighting to keep his eyes open, and then froze and shot up in bed at a sharp, horrified yell.

"Oh _Merlin!_"

The voice was sharp and feminine, though harsh with pain. The yell heightened to a scream, twisting in agony, and Harry shot up from his bed, grabbing his wand up off of his bedside table as he went.

He stopped at Ron's bed first, shaking the redhead vigorously, and cursing when his best friend would not stir. He tried each of his dorm-mates, but no one would wake from their slumber.

Then the screaming stopped, and Harry could barely make out harsh panting, before a soft, dying groan snapped him back into action.

He shot to the dormitory door, planning to seek out the suffering woman on his own, and flung it open… to find, instead of a hallway leading to the stairs down to the Gryffindor Common room, a bedroom. It was decorated in rich, deep purple. There were hardwood floors, scrubbed meticulously shiny, and high, gothic windows throwing moonlight in patches. The room was lit with several tapered candles, and was void of all furniture save a high wing-backed chair against the far wall and a large, luxurious bed, covered in purple and lilac silks.

He hesitated, but flew forward at a whimper of pain from amidst the sheets.

There lay a woman, round with child, fingers twisting as she writhed in pain on her bed, unattended by a maid, husband, or midwife. Her hair was a vibrant, pale blonde, slick with sweat and plastered against her forehead.

Her wide, blue eyes rolled in their sockets wildly before landing on him. She stretched out her arm, panting, and he quickly moved forward to take her hand in his.

"Where is your mediwizard?" He asked, panicked.

She drew in a deep breath and, squeezing his hand, answered him in German, which he found to his surprise he could now understand. "Listen to me, child."

She licked her lips and pulled on his hand in an attempt to bring him closer. He pulled away, looking anxiously around for someone to help her, "Who should I call for?"

"Call for no one, child. Help is here."

Harry looked around again, turning back to her, meeting her calm eyes with his own, frantic gaze. "Me?"

"Nein." She shook her head, then grimaced and shivered, her right hand soothing her stomach, her left hand clasping and unclasping his.

Their rings clacked together.

He pulled at his left hand, suddenly remembering what he'd been trying to hide all day long, but was drawn in by her once again calm gaze.

"You will solve it. Listen to me."

His eyes flew down to their intertwined hands, and he sagged against the bed to see that their rings matched perfectly. He met her eyes again, and she nodded.

"We are one, you and I. I will protect you. So much like my husband."

His breath caught as she moaned in agony again. "Let me help you-"

"Nein. No one can help us now, child. We must help ourselves. I will protect you as I could not protect him. I will give you what you most deserve… what he most desired."

"What?"

But she would say no more, her mouth opening into a shriek of pure pain, and Harry was shoved forward-and pulled abruptly back.

"Harry?"

"Wha-huh?"

Harry spun around in the darkened hallway, coming face to face with his best friend and several worried housemates.

"You were yelling, Harry. Did you… have another nightmare?"

Behind Ron, Dean and Seamus exchanged speaking looks and Neville turned a little green.

"No," Harry said, blinking rapidly and allowing himself to be led back towards his bed. "Just a dream."

"Does…" Neville hesitated, "does your scar hurt?" It fell into a whisper in the end, and then everyone was looking deeply at Harry, who stepped back into his trunk, offering up a reassuring smile.

"No. Just your everyday, run of the mill dream."

Three of the boys seemed to accept this and, after offering pats on the back and orders to get some sleep, Harry was left alone with Ron's worried countenance.

"Are you lying to us?"

"No," Harry sighed, his smile turning real, "It really _doesn't_ hurt."

"But, it wasn't your run of the mill dream, was it?"

"Ron, I don't _have_ run of the mill dreams." Harry rolled his eyes and climbed into bed, spelling off his wand and settling down into the covers, before turning his attention back to he redhead.

"Go back to sleep, I'm sorry I woke you."

Ron gave up, grunting in irritation. "Don't think I won't tell Hermione about this."

At that, Harry heatedly glared at his back until they were both settled into their beds and the darkness overrode everything else.

§ § §

Draco woke to a fluttering on his face, and he batted it away with a hand, angrily burrowing back into his pillow and whimpering.

There was an insistent nudging, which he steadily ignored, and then just a slight whirling breeze above his head, which he immediately forgot about in favor of the soothing color of the inside of his eyelids.

"Draco?" came a gruff voice to the left of his bed, and there was a heavy shifting and a meaty chuckle, before air blew against his face again and Draco sat up so suddenly he smacked right into Goyle's flying hand.

"Ow! What?! What do you want?"

Goyle stared at him, holding something tightly in his fist as Crabbe snickered at them both from the other side of Draco's bed.

Draco turned his glare on his other friend. "What is so funny?"

"We…" Crabbe spluttered between laughs, "j-just wanted to let you know that this things was attacking you."

Goyle offered his closed fist to Draco, who scowled at them both and then motioned for Goyle to let whatever he had go.

Draco watched in shocked fascination as a tiny broom shook itself almost haughtily free of Goyle's fingers, shaking itself presentable for another moment before setting up a slow, twisting figure eight a few feet above Draco's bed.

"Where did you get it, Draco? We woke up and it was going at you-"

"Could you give me a moment, boys?" Draco asked, still wide-eyed at the little broom. "I'll meet you at breakfast."

After a few token protests, which had more to do with their loyalty to Draco than their unwillingness to descend upon breakfast and fill their stomachs once again, Crabbe and Goyle left him alone to muse over a little broom his mother had given to him when he was five.

It was, without a doubt, the same broom. A little worse for wear over the years, but it had the same bite mark at the end of the broom, made when Draco had been young enough to wonder if everything fun was secretly made of chocolate. It had been so _long_ ago, Draco mused, and smiled genuinely for the first time that year, slipping out of bed to find clean robes for the day.

§ § §

He passed the Gryffindor table on the way to his seat, barely registering the whispered argument amongst the Dream Team, playing bemusedly with his toy broom.

Harry ducked away as Draco approached, ignoring Hermione's latest hissing reprimand, folding in on himself, watching under his dark bangs for his _fiancé_ to settle himself at the Slytherin table.

Ron looked over his shoulder at Draco and sneered, "Something's got the git in a good mood."

"Could we focus," Hermione angrily stated, eyes fixed on Harry, "I don't think you're telling us everything about this dream you've had."

"It's not important-"

"It's a dream that _you've_ had. And you woke up screaming out in the hallway, and you expect us to believe your scar wasn't hurting?"

"It wasn't _me_ screaming," Harry began to insist, but was cut off by Ron.

"I hate it when Malfoy's happy."

"Fine. If you want to be secretive about it, you can be. Just remember where that sort of thing gets you Harry," Hermione huffed. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand, "I've found something out about your ring."

"It's not my ring." Harry immediately inserted, drawing a smirk from Ron and a confused look from Hermione. "I'm going to make a stand and say, right here and now, that I believe I am in hell. This ring is a figment of my imagination, a punishment for whatever perceived wrong I've committed. In short, I'm crazy, and none of this is happening."

"Ah," Hermione nodded, smiling for the first time that morning, "denial."

"I'm not Malfoy's true love."

"Well, as I've said, I've news on the ring. And you just might not be."

"Really?" Ron perked up and both boys leaned in for an explanation.

"But we can't talk about it now. Meet me in the library."

With that, she stood and left them to finish their breakfasts.

Ron shook his head at her dramatics and dug back into his toast. Harry watched her go, and then turned a look on his best friend. "Did you have to tell her about my dream?"

"Yes. I told you I would. Are you going to eat that?"

"When did you turn into such a pig?" asked Harry, passing over his bacon, and Ron shrugged.

"I'm a growing boy. And with Fred and George gone, there's no one to steal my food but Ginny, and she's always 'watching her weight'." He finished his sentence in a girlish falsetto, then scowled into his plate. "You should have seen her when she read that newspaper article on Malfoy's damned ring. She and Mum walked around in a romantic daze for weeks. It was disgusting. They immediately lost all sense. It was as if Ginny'd never actually met the slimy arse."

Harry shrugged, "girls."

"Yeah. Thank Merlin for our Hermione. Kept a cool head. Wasn't the least bit interested in the romantics of the situation."

"She's interested in the Magics of it, though," Harry mused. "We've only been here a day, and she's already found something."

Ron shifted in his chair, and threw a glare in the direction of the Slytherin table. "Just as long as she not interested in Malfoy, I don't mind at all."

He finished Harry's bacon and then stood to leave, Harry grinning after him.

§ § §

In the library, Ron quietly snuck up behind Hermione and admired the fall of her hair over wiry, silver frames. She'd picked up reading glasses over the summer, and had sheepishly shown them to the boys stating that her optometrist had lectured her on why reading with little amounts of light in the dead of night was, apparently, bad for her eyesight.

Ron thought she looked breathtaking in them, no matter what she thought.

He'd been waiting to see her in them ever since she'd blushingly ripped them off during the modeling portion of their ride into Hogwarts when Harry had teased her.

Now, she started and turned on him, turning pink at what must have been an intense look in his eyes. "I expected you both to be another little while. Where's Harry?"

Ron shook himself free of his spell and shrugged, sliding into the seat opposite her. "I think he's finishing his breakfast still."

She nodded, offering up a shy smile, "Growing boys…"

They sat in silence for a moment, just looking at each other, when there was a shift in the carpet to their left and an amused cough.

"Am I interrupting something?" Harry said innocently, and Hermione cleared her throat as Ron glared at Harry.

"We were waiting for you, actually, have a seat, and both of you lean in close."

"Ooh. Secrets."

Hermione looked affronted for a moment, and then slipped her glasses off, much to Ron's disappointment and waited for Harry to seat himself at Ron's side.

They leaned into each other.

"Now. I couldn't get to sleep last night, so I slipped down here-"

"Alone?" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione just glared at him.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Ronald Weasley. Really. It's not as if it's dangerous. We've done it a thousand times."

"With Harry's _cloak_." Ron spluttered, "Together."

"I wouldn't say a _thousand_," Harry mused, but was ignored.

"You should have come to get us-"

Hermione's voice became slightly shrill, and she leaned back from them. "I don't need your help with every little thing-"

"-and I don't like you wandering around in the middle of the night-"

"-as if I were some helpless little _girl_. I can take care of myself, I think I've proved that-"

"Maybe a hundred."

"What happened to the days when you'd advise _against_ this sort of behavior?"

"It's different when it's important. Harry's life could be at stake!"

"Really?" Harry asked. "Well, yes. I suppose I might die if I had to marry Malfoy. Do you think they'd make me kiss him?"

Ron paused and looked over at Harry, suddenly disgusted, "Eww. I hadn't thought of that. We _have_ to get that thing off of you, Harry."

"And," Hermione growled, catching their attention, "to that end, may I tell you what I've found?"

"Please," Harry smiled at her, and Ron's mouth clicked shut.

"Fine. Well, it seems that your ring-"

"Ahem," Harry inserted.

"Fine. _Malfoy's_ ring, was made by Salazar Slytherin himself. With the aid of one of Malfoy's ancestors. Her name was Nyx Malfoy, and she was the wife of Damien Malfoy."

"Wait. Salazar _Slytherin_? The bloke who put Harry's basilisk in this school? The one who wants muggle-borns _dead_?"

"Yes, that Salazar Slytherin. Of course, this was _before_ he and the other founders built Hogwarts. Just out of University, when all he had ahead of him was brilliant promise. He became a close friend of Nyx's son, Loki. This was back during what's considered the first generation of Malfoy's. They'd just won their fortunes, although my resources couldn't find _how_, and Nyx was concerned that some young woman would take advantage of her son. She enlisted Salazar's help to create the ring as a gift to her son. Salazar, as you should know, was a Charms Master, as well as the only Parseltongue of his time."

Hermione turned to her left and picked up a book, slipping her glasses back on, which caused Harry and Ron to exchange a look, and flipped through a few pages until she found what she was looking for. Turning the book, she pushed it to Harry, who looked down into a shimmering picture of the very ring that encircled his finger.

"Have you tried speaking to it?"

Harry blinked up at her, "The ring?"

"Yes. Well, the snakes on the ring. I was thinking that it worked the same way as the entrance to the Basilisk's chamber. Try it."

Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Harry held his ring up to his face and spoke into the large diamond.

"Er… hello?"

Nothing happened, but Ron snickered beside him. "Try speaking Parseltongue, Harry."

Harry threw him a glare, and then concentrated enough to finally hiss out a hello.

The ring seemed to shimmer a little, and one tiny, snake eye rolled his way, but there was no answer. Harry looked up at Hermione, who was beaming. "What did it say?"

"Nothing. Hermione, its mouth is full."

She deflated a bit, and Ron patted her hand, and Harry shook his head. "It was worth a try. Does that book say how I get it off?"

Hermione shifted in her chair and then sighed. "Apparently, you don't. It can only be removed by your husband-to-be. You're going to have to tell him."

Ron frowned, and then grabbed Hermione's book from Harry. "I say we leave that as our last option. We'll find a way."

Hermione rolled her eyes and drug the book away from a protesting Ron. "Is the telling Malfoy option before or after cutting Harry's finger off?"

"After," Ron muttered, and Harry looked nervously at Ron's boot as if he could see a knife through the leather.

Hermione sighed, "All right. We can keep digging into the ring's magical make-up and hope we find some way to remove it. In the mean time, we still need to find a way to hide it from everybody."

She shook her head and picked up another book, and after a pause looked back up at them. "Well, don't just sit there, start reading."

Ron grabbed a Hermione's book back, and she scowled before finding a nearby charms book and started searching for invisibility charms. Harry picked up the Malfoy Family History.

Silence settled among them.

§ § §

Draco's blissful mood had slipped a bit as the day moved into the afternoon. Usually, he'd be using this last day of freedom during classes to harass the lower years and make a general nuisance of himself, but he was finding it hard to get the respect he deserved this year.

First, his father had been imprisoned as a proven follower and conspirator of the Dark Lord. It wasn't the taboo of evil upon his family that brought disrespect from his housemates. Amongst the Slytherins, 'caught' seemed to be the operative word. The consensus seemed to be that Malfoys, with the reputation of cruel and intelligent cunning, should never be caught. It showed stupidity.

Secondly, his fiancée had not introduced herself yet. At breakfast that morning, he'd overheard a couple of fifth year Ravenclaw girls wondering loudly what could have possibly happened to his true love that would keep her from coming forward. Their story began to sound utterly ridiculous.

"Perhaps she died…"

"… or maybe she's being imprisoned by her evil father…"

Blaise jumped in at about this point, grinning wickedly at the annoyed look on Draco's face. "Maybe she knows exactly what she's got, she just doesn't want to be Mrs. Draco Malfoy."

Draco's eyebrows clenched together and from a few seats away, Pansy snorted in contempt. "Then she's an idiot."

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, during which Draco glowered at Blaise, who smiled back unrepentantly.

"He's filthy rich."

Draco turned his glare on Pansy, who met his angry look with her own cool stare.

"What?" she asked irritably.

He shook his head and bent back over his food.

Blaise snickered. "Maybe she's a muggle?"

Draco choked on his eggs and Crabbe made a disgusted noise of his own.

But it had Draco _thinking_ about the whole situation. Up until now he'd only desperately wished that no one would come forward with a claim on his family name. He wasn't in any way ready to be married, or even engaged. Now he worried that he _wouldn't_ be getting engaged, and would therefore bring down more shame upon his family. No other Malfoy had waited this long to discover who his bride-to-be was.

He knew that his mother was looking forward to the engagement and subsequent wedding. He knew that it soothed her frazzled nerves to think of him walking down the aisle with someone suitable, someone worthy, someone attention getting. Someone who could remind the world that the Malfoy's were about tradition and opulence, and not violence and fanaticism.

He owed it to his mother to find his bride in any way possible.

And, with an irritated huff at himself after hours of playing with his toy broom while students around him readied themselves for classes that would begin just after the weekend, Draco made his way to the library.

He had to find a way to locate his future bride. He doubted that his mother would know where he should begin, as her dealing with the Malfoy Ambition had been clear cut and pedestrian.

No, this would take research.

§ § §

The book that he wanted… several of them in fact, were missing. He shouldn't really have been surprised. Interest in his family history and the inner workings of the ring was bound to be endless, with the amount of news they'd made recently. He'd been surprised enough to find that the Hogwarts library included the Malfoy Family History at all, and was intrigued enough to read it from cover to cover, though the family had their own copy. It had been written by a woman named Eirene Malfoy several hundred years ago, and enchanted to record important events that happened after her life in the same style of writing in which she'd began it. He wanted to see if anything had changed.

Turning around a bookcase with a swift, angry step, Draco pulled to an abrupt halt at the sight that greeted him.

There was a drag at the bottom of his stomach, and the corners of his mouth pulled tight.

Harry Potter.

"Well, isn't this a popular place today?"

Granger jumped nearly a foot off her chair, startled at his entrance. Weasley slammed his book shut, title facing the table, and glowered at Draco.

Potter turned white and slunk into his seat.

"What do _you_ want, Malfoy?"

"I was just passing through," Draco shrugged, then smiled innocently at them. "You haven't seen a book about yea big," Draco demonstrated the proportions of the Malfoy Family History with his hands, "being passed about, have you?"

"What do you _want_, Malfoy?" Weasley repeated.

"It's got my name on it in large, gold letters. No? Haven't seen it?"

Draco didn't notice as Potter slunk further into his seat, pulling his book down with him.

There was a short silence, during which Weasley radiated anger and Granger looked rather annoyed through her…

"Nice glasses, Mudblood. Taking after Potter, hmm? Soon you'll all look alike. Ugly, nuttering girls."

Potter began to look a little irritated, and Granger turned an embarrassing shade of red. Weasley growled, "Got nothing better to do than pull a fashion critique on unsuspecting students? Who's the nuttering girl?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'll take that as a '_No, Draco. We haven't seen your book.'_ Mannerless cretins."

Draco drew up beside Granger, picking up her book and perusing the open page despite her spluttering protests.

"Hmm. Invisibility charms. Thinking up new and interesting ways to kill yourselves this year." His eyes became big with feigned hope, "Can I help?"

It might have been the wistful tone in his voice that finally drew words from Potter's mouth, but Draco was slightly thrown at the desperation in his enemy's tone. "Will you _please_ go away now? We haven't got your book."

Potter's fingers were white against the binding of the book he was holding and Draco's eyes slipped to the straining knuckles before he shrugged and dropped Granger's book back to the table. "Desperate to see my backside?"

"_Yes._" Potter growled, and Draco smirked.

"You only had to say so, Potter."

He was several strides away from them, and still inwardly chortling before Potter caught on.

"Not like _that!_"

Draco was pleased to have his day back on track again, a feeling which lasted until late that evening when he trapped his toy broom into his trunk to keep it from waking him the next morning and snuggled up into his silk pillows.

§ § §

Sleep that night came reluctantly to Harry, who was still annoyed at having lost the day's verbal sparring, but eventually it did come.

As he slipped into dreamy darkness that night, a strangely familiar, angrily desperate voice whispered into his ear.

__

"I love you."

The words were swatted away like flies.

**

End Chapter

**


	5. Snitches, Snakes, and Sentries

Please see Chapter 1 for disclaimers, warnings and other information.

**Warning:** This chapter will be upping the rating to 'R', which I'm sad to do, but there's a bit of squiky blood in this part. Nothing kinky, just a bit creepy. The light-heartedness will soon return, I promise.

**Chapter 5 - Snitches, Snakes, and Sentries**

The next morning Harry slept late and woke groggily. This was a very bad way to start the first day of his sixth year classes, but unavoidable. He felt as if he'd been kicked in the head by a mule.

He'd never been kicked in the head by a mule, but he imagined it would feel something like this.

He completely missed breakfast; Ron saved him a piece of toast; but was only five minutes late to his first class. His pounding headache followed him into Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he gave thanks for the utter silence in the room.

"And you must be Harry Potter," came a smooth voice from the front of the room, breaking the silence and startling Harry into dropping his book loudly to the floor. He reached down to pick it up and turned to face the front of the class, feeling uncomfortable as he always did when put on display.

At the front of the room stood a man, perhaps in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and skin considerably paler than most. His eyes were a dark brown, nearly black, and the gaze was deeply guarded. The voice had been rough with use, and had boomed throughout the room.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. "I apologize for my tardiness-"

The professor waved a hand dismissively toward an empty chair next to Ron. "I believe Mr. Weasley saved you a seat, but please don't let it happen again. You've missed the introduction portion of our class today. I am Vincent Periday. I was just apologizing for not arriving until this morning. The Headmaster was not pleased that I missed this year's welcoming ceremony, but some things cannot be helped."

Harry quickly moved to sit beside Ron and nodded his head meaningfully at their instructor. Ron shrugged at the silent question. They'd been curious as to the identity of this year's DADA instructor, but no details had been offered from the staff to any of the students. The man looked harmless, although a little stiff and rough around the edges, and obviously uncomfortable. As Harry sat, he began to pace and talk to at once.

"I hear that you've run through instructors for this class the way most children run through candy, and I must wonder if teaching is a more dangerous profession than I had originally believed. Should I worry?" The question was without humor and the delivery was a bit dry, though Harry had a suspicion that it had been meant as a joke.

No one laughed.

The man ceased his pacing in front of them and raised one dark eyebrow. Then he hummed in the back of his throat. "Interesting," he murmured.

He shook his head and forced a smile. It came off as a sneer. "I won't ask you what you hope to learn from this class, for I believe I might venture to guess that what you hope to learn is how to survive. They say He Who Shall Not Be Named has returned to blight us all again, and your generation hangs in the delicate position of being just old enough to kill, yet not old enough to protect yourselves."

Neville squeaked and the whole first row of students straightened, but the man went on with his rapid speech.

"The first rule you should always remember is-" he halted and looked around at them. "Have you got quill and parchment ready?"

There was a general scrambling as bags were searched and desks were readied, and Harry rubbed at his temples, beginning to feel his headache ease. Ron elbowed him and he grudgingly pulled parchment free from between the pages of one of his books. He had to turn in his seat and muster up a sufficiently pathetic, pleading look for Hermione before she would roll her eyes and wordlessly hold out a spare quill, it's end bent tragically.

Ron wordlessly shoved his ink bottle between them when Harry redirected his pleading eyes on his best friend.

"The first rule you should always remember is to know your enemy. Know as much about him or her as you possibly can. Whether they be wild animal, ferocious beast, or the wizard you once called friend."

Hermione's hand went up, but the Professor was gazing out the window, not making eye contact with any of the class. He had spoken as if he was reading from a book, and the students scribbled along faithfully. Hermione hesitated for a moment before losing patience. "Professor Periday?"

He turned back to the class, as if surprised that he wasn't alone in the classroom after all, and then sought out Hermione's hand waving in the air. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Suppose you can't know anything of your enemy? What then?" The question was eager, and Periday nodded shortly.

"That brings us to rule number two, Miss Granger. Know your own defensive capabilities. If you can't tell what your opponent will be throwing at you, the very least you can do is know how you'll react to it. Have something on backup, in case you lose your cool. Or your wand. Can any of you use actual weapons?" He looked from one student to the next, causing many of the brave Gryffindors to squirm in their seats.

There was a short silence.

"Have any of you ever actually _held_ a real weapon?" he sounded exasperated.

"Harry's held a sword," Hermione offered tentatively.

Professor Periday looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged and edged away from the looks of the rest of the classroom. "Yes, well. Swords are a bit cumbersome in the midst of battle, but I'm sure we're all sufficiently impressed. Pocket knives? Daggers? Anyone?"

Ron grinned and raised a hand. "I've got a knife in my boot."

"Good," Periday nodded at Ron, "Do you know how to use it?"

Ron sunk a little in his chair and mumbled, "Mum asked me not to play around with it."

Several of the class snickered, and Dean snorted. Ron shot him a glare. Dean mimicked Ron mercilessly and batted his eyelashes girlishly. Ron mouthed back an angry, 'Later, Thomas.'

Dean rolled his eyes, and behind them Harry heard Hermione sigh wistfully and murmur, "_Boys._"

Professor Periday ignored the scene and continued with his lecture. "This year, we'll be learning basic defense, not only with your wands, but with your hands and any weapons available to you. Chances are, you'll be in dangerous positions throughout your lives, and I'd be remiss if I didn't teach you to protect yourselves. Rule number three…"

§ § §

The days continued thusly, and they settled once again into the steady routine of schoolwork and research. Somewhere in the world Voldemort planned his evil plans, but Harry began to push that particular problem to the back burner in the face of more immediate concerns.

Hermione had tried several different charms to hide the ring. One of them had caused Harry to speak German for twenty minutes (Hermione was having trouble figuring that one out), and another had caused his whole arm to disappear with the ring. He'd had to wear the long sleeved robes that day, and keep his left hand shoved in his pocket at all costs.

He'd accidentally stretched it out to catch a third year who'd tripped on the lush hallway carpeting, and had needed to think of some hasty excuse as to why he had no left hand. Thankfully, the truthful, "Hermione was working on this new charm…" had satisfied the bemused girl. Ron later pointed out that it did have the added effect of making the ring invisible along with his arm.

Hermione said that Ron's sort of help wasn't really helping and would he please try to be serious.

Harry privately agreed that an invisible arm was easier to explain away than another boy's engagement ring.

Soon, Ron came down with a cold. He was adamant that it was caused by the dusty books Hermione and Harry had been forcing him to pore through, and declared himself ineligible for any further studying sessions into the history of the Malfoy Ambition.

This was fine with Hermione, who'd found Ron a distraction anyway, but annoyed Harry to no end. The Boy Who Lived had no such excuses, and so ended up spending hours reading about the family history of the person whom he hated most in the world. The Malfoy bloodline was peppered with intriguing mysteries and scandalous affairs.

In the late first century a penniless wizard by the name of Daimon Malfoy had chosen an aristocratic pure-blooded woman named Nyx for his wife, and despite his meager circumstances, she had agreed to wed him. Nearly five years after their marriage, Daimon quite suddenly fell into his fortune.

This was the first hazy point in the Malfoy Family History. No one quite knew from where the money that comprised the bulk of the Malfoy fortune had originated.

Soon after they'd established themselves in the most influential circles of the wizarding community, Nyx had found herself with child. They soon welcomed to birth a beautiful ice blond boy named Loki.

Loki had later gone on to befriend an up and coming charms master by the name of Salazar Slytherin. And here was the first mention of the Malfoy Ambition. Apparently, not more than a few years before Hogwarts had been constructed, Salazar had helped Loki's mother craft the ring as a gift to his best friend. A gift that would ensure the Malfoy line was always pure, proud, and illustrious.

The book then skipped a sizable chunk of time to focus on Loki's son, Liam. Liam had married a beautiful witch by the name of Maened, and the couple had been the toast of every party, always warmly accepted by any hostess. Liam and Maened had a son named Willison Malfoy, who went on to marry a very charming, yet demure lady of the Wizarding court by the name of Nereid.

The pages detailing the life of that couples' son, Evan Malfoy, were missing.

The book then settled out and soon every page began to bleat on and on about how great the Malfoys were. How _pure_ they were, as evidenced by the always shockingly pale good looks of every male born to the family and quite a few of their wives. Blond hair and blue eyes were the norm with this bunch. Oddly enough, there were no natural-born Malfoy women.

The seat of Malfoy power had moved around quite a few times, from castle to townhouse to summer cottage in Devonshire, until they had settled a little over a hundred years ago in a sprawling, majestic manor house they had named, quite appropriately, Malfoy Manor.

The Manor had been the epitome of all Wizarding envy, and eventually became focus of much suspicion after the defeat of the Evil Lord Grindelwald in the mid-forties. The Malfoys had then been suspected of treason against the wizarding world, but had eventually been found innocent.

Harry read and wondered over all of this information over several sessions of study in the library with Hermione, but didn't feel he'd learned much at all about the ring.

"Look at it this way," Hermione told him brightly when he'd complained, "if we can't get rid of the ring, at least now you know as much as can be expected about the family you're marrying into."

She got a withering look from the Boy Wonder with that statement, and offering up an unapologetic shrug, excused him from the library for the evening. "Why, thank you Professor Granger," he retorted dryly.

"Don't mention it," she said, adjusting her glasses, lost already in another advanced Charms manual.

He gathered up the Malfoy Family History and a few other heavy books that Hermione had dubbed 'light reading,' and headed in the direction of Gryffindor tower. He ignored his smirking, smug best friend and trudged up the stairs to his dorm. Depositing his collection on the trunk at the base of his bed, he settled into the covers and plumped his pillows and once again picked up the Malfoy Family History.

He was re-reading the one, brief mention of the Malfoy Ambition in the entire book, but was gleaning no new facts from it:

"The Malfoy Ambition is a tradition that has stood the test of time and generations of change in the Malfoy family. Salazar Slythin, who helped to create this unique piece of jewelry, said that it would help the young Loki Malfoy (the first bridegroom to employ the use of the ring), to 'reveal his deepest of ambitions for once and all.'"

This did little to help him. Still, he couldn't help but think on and re-read the passage until his eyes grew heavy and his breathing evened. The pages crinkled under his fingers as he fell deeply to sleep in his studies.

Moments later he was woken by the soft click of a closing door, and his head whipped up. He blinked and blearily looked around the room, re-adjusting his glasses and wishing he hadn't fallen asleep in them, and then froze at the murmuring of voices outside the dormitory door.

In the bed across from him, Neville was settled asleep. After a cursory look around the room he realized some time must have passed, for his dorm mates were safely tucked into bed and were sleeping soundly.

The voices outside their door quieted, but Harry began to feel uneasy. He slid off of his bed and picked his wand up from his nightstand, stuffing it in his pocket, and headed towards the sound.

He pressed his ear up against the heavy oak and, hearing nothing, twisted the knob and opened the door.

The hallway had once again disappeared, but in his dream this time a drawing room had appeared. Rows of books lined two of the walls, their shelves broken by stretches of wall decorated by gothic artwork and dying potted greenery. The hardwood floor he stepped out upon was waxed to a gleaming finish, and every piece of ancient furniture looked much too weak to sit on. Chairs and settees were scattered around darkly woven rugs, and white, tapered candles lit the somber room and its inhabitants.

A man sat in a corner, shoved between a door and a wall, shoulders slumping in defeat. There were only a few other people in the room, most darting concerned looks toward the man and then falling into whispers. Nearly ten feet from the man stood an austere looking woman, with the same platinum blonde locks, her face a picture of stoic calm. Her fingers twisted worriedly in the folds of her dress for a moment, and her face pinched in apparent pain before smoothing out at the sound of one man's voice.

_"Darling, is he… alright?"_ This man had the same blond hair, if a bit darker, but his features were harsh where the woman's were flawless. He was dressed in aged Wizard's robes, cinched and pulled in a style that Harry had only seen in the moving pictures of his History of Magic textbook. All the men in the room were, upon closer inspections, dressed thusly, and the women wore extravagant robes that seemed to resemble classy dresses.

_"Alright?"_ They were speaking in hushed tones, but Harry guessed the man they spoke of wouldn't have noticed if the world had fallen on his ears. _"After all that's happened? At least he has Liam-"  
_

"Harry." Harry whirled at the immediately recognizable German accent. The same woman from his earlier dream; the woman who'd screamed in pain and given him only riddles for answers, stood in front of him, deathly pale. She was dressed in the same bed gown she'd been wearing in his last dream, stained with blood from the waist down.

The corners of her mouth kicked up in a smile.

"We had no chance to speak last night," she haltingly explained.

The ring on her finger gleamed as she turned to look at the door beside the grieving man. Moments later, there was a rapt knock.

No one in the room paid the knocking any mind, and the man sitting beside the door made no move of surprise.

"I have been waiting so long for you."

Blood trailed down her ankle and dripped onto the floor, but she paid it no mind.

"What is going on?" Harry reigned in his horror at the sight of the woman bleeding from bits he'd rather not even think about.

She shook her head, her gaze fiercely trained on the door in front of her.

_"It's going to be so difficult for him, to raise Liam alone,"_ the woman they'd turned away from murmured.

_"Salazar will be back,"_ the man beside her quietly rebuffed.

At the name, both Harry and the man they spoke of stiffened.

The knocking had grown louder.

"Aren't they going to answer that?" Harry ground out.

"They cannot hear it."

_"Daimon…"_

After reading the Malfoy History for so long, Harry began to put names to the faces around him. The flawlessly beautiful woman who worried over the mourning man in the corner was Nyx Malfoy, her husband, Daimon stood beside her. Loki Malfoy sat, drenched in helpless agony.

"Who are you?"

"I am the first bride of ambition," she murmured the answer to his question, "and you will be the last. I have waited so long for you."

_"Salazar won't return after all that's happened. He's not the same man-"_ Nyx's voice was full of regret. _"Would that I had never forced Loki's hand."_

The knocking had become a pounding, and Harry felt pulled between realities for a moment.

_"I will speak to him,"_ Daimon murmured and finally Loki looked up. Across the man's cheek was a deep slashing scar that the book had described as the byproduct of a fencing accident from Loki's youth. His nose was broken, too, which hadn't been mentioned at all in Harry's readings. Despite the rumpled appearance, which was strange for a Malfoy, Harry could tell that this was obviously what he was. He had the signature white-blond hair and everything.

_"Please…"_ Loki interrupted them, and all conversation in the room stopped as people turned to stare. _"Don't bother him. He's got so much going on now, with the school and his missing cousin."_

Nyx hesitated, _"Loki, darling, you shouldn't go through this alone."_

_"His presence will solve nothing."_

"It might have solved everything," the bleeding woman said, but no one heard her. One by one, the others in the room began to disappear, until at the last Loki broke from his mother's gaze and they both faded into nothingness.

The pounding stopped.

"I died in childbirth, and they never spoke of me." She turned to Harry and he kept his eyes firmly about waist level, not flinching from her stare. "They still don't speak of me."

"They're all long dead," Harry explained.

She smiled, "in the end, we will be at peace."

"Will you _please_ tell me what is going on?" Harry demanded hotly.

"Very well. Once, a very long time ago, two people fell in love. For several reasons, which were valid at the time, they did not find their ending a happy one."

"You and Loki-"

"Loki and Salazar."

A soft knock was once again heard at the door.

"I beg your pardon?" Harry choked out.

"Loki and Salazar loved one another, but chose to let their love be tested. They failed each other and went their separate ways. Loki married and became a father, a widower."

"And Slytherin went on to preach hatred and violence to anyone who would listen, imprison a monster whose sole purpose was to kill people he hated, and disappear from the history books forever," Harry finished darkly for her.

She nodded, and then glanced over at the closed door when the knocking was heard again.

"Am I meant to answer that?" Harry asked tightly.

She shook her head. "I am meant to guard that door until you can lock it forever."

He rolled his eyes and spat back, "I'm quickly getting tired of these riddles."

"Most Riddles are difficult to defeat," she quipped. "I have waited for you."

"So you said. I'm here now, what do you want?"

"I want you to make things right."

"Make _what_ right?"

"Find a happy end."

A loud noise sounded through the room as the wood of the door bulged inward. Wood cracked and she winced in pain, then turned panicked eyes on him. "Leave."

"What? I'm not through-"

"Leave. Now!"

His eyes shot open and the Malfoy Family history fell to the ground as he jumped from sleeping to waking in one quick moment. Neville made a sound of panic at his abrupt movement and finished working his robes off quickly.

"Sorry, Harry. Didn't mean to wake you," he blushed hotly, "sorry. I'll go now, you look a little washed out."

§ § §

Draco found himself on the Quidditch pitch. He was months early for the season, but had needed somewhere to go to escape the questions constantly being thrown at him.

"Heard from your true love lately?" He mimicked in a high voice to the empty field, and then huffed.

Blaise was becoming incorrigible, and were it not for his reluctance to bruise his knuckles, Draco would have liked to test out his newfound interest in fisticuffs on the teasing brunette. His DADA class had been learning about how to throw a proper punch from his newest Professor.

He had gotten an odd look from the Professor on their first day of class. He'd almost made out a note of panic in the man's dark gaze, but had dismissed it when the session had been called to order and he hadn't been looked at again. While he didn't exactly approve of the new instructor, Draco had nothing against the man, either.

But he had this nagging feeling at the back of his head…

That hadn't been the only weird thing that had plagued him in the first few weeks back from Summer hols. Potter and his two little friends had been scuttling about, and were most definitely up to something, but Draco hadn't been able to prove any of his theories.

Even the Weasel hadn't bothered him about the bride business, which was strange in and of itself. He'd thought the dirty red headed boy had grown used to squabbling with him over the years, and Draco had even begun to look forward to the verbal sparring and the victorious feeling he got whenever he'd tortured the freckles into blending in with the rage of red on Weasley's face.

It was strange that the glorious heroes of Hogwarts hadn't been rubbing his face in his humiliation, and it made Draco almost suspicious.

Draco shook his thoughts loose and went back to worrying about his future. His mother had cut off contact with him, having sent him a letter to inform him she'd left the country to visit relatives in France.

He consoled himself with the thought that she'd be supported until the issues with the family fortune were sorted out with the Ministry. Everything was currently being looked over with a fine toothed comb for any signs of dark magic. Hopefully, they would be proven innocent and allowed to return to their former station with only the smear of his Father's imprisonment and involvement with Voldemort on their family name. It wouldn't have been the first time the Malfoy's had overcome allegations and embarrassing entanglements with shady characters.

A buzzing sound near his ear distracted him, but when he turned to look for the source, he found nothing.

At least his _situation_ was serving as a distraction. The world seemed now obsessed with the Malfoy family's future bride. Polls running in the Daily Prophet had several young ladies wondering what sort of girl would eventually claim the title of Mrs. Draco Malfoy. He'd turned down several interviews, though his mother had done a few, and his reluctance to speak of it was making several journalists work even harder to fill in the missing details with wild fabrication.

He'd read somewhere that he had already found his bride, but that "young Mr. Malfoy has decided to keep his new bride's identity mum because of her delicate condition." Apparently, he'd already gotten the chit pregnant.

With a thwack, something small and compact connected with the base of his skull and his whole world went fuzzy for a moment. When he finally gathered his wits, he twisted on the ground to search for the weapon that had taken him out… to find a Golden Snitch fluttering happily away. It turned lazy circles in the air in front of him before shooting forward to bop him in the nose.

"What in Merlin's name?" He reached out quickly to take hold of the ball and forced its wings to a halt, and then turned it over in his fingers. "Has this thing been out here since last… season…"

There, engraved in the golden hollow beneath one feathery wing, were his initials.

_Property of D.M._

**End Chapter**

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry to everyone for how long this chapter took. I've been fighting writer's block and a new job and several things that keep popping up and taking away my attention. Most of that is resolved now, and the work should begin to flow more smoothly. Also, I'd appreciate some feedback from anyone who happens to read and can answer a few questions for me. I'm okay with this being confusing, but I must know if it's interesting-confusing or boring-confusing. Are the original characters too much? Is the plot getting too thick? Did this chapter give you any clues to add to the story line? Let me know what you think, please.


	6. The Helping That Is Not

See previous chapters for warnings and disclaimers.

**Warning:** Just a bit of naughty language in this one.

**Chapter 6 - The Helping That Is Not**

Harry's head hurt worse than it had ever hurt before. It hurt worse than that time the Dudley had beaned him with an empty soda bottle when he'd teased the fat boy about his newest set of Sunday clothes, fashioned after a naval Sea Captain's uniform which Aunt Petunia had thought so _very_ cute. It hurt worse than the time Vincent Crabbe had finally gotten his aim right and nudged a Bludger in the proper direction. It hurt worse than when he'd tripped over the trailing edge of his robes when he'd been chasing after Neville's frog and landed in a heap with Neville at the base of a short flight of stairs, stars in his eyes.

In fact, this pounding felt worse than his scar did, in moments when Voldemort was throwing backlash from his evil deeds Harry's way, and that concerned him. He dragged himself out of bed and squinted at himself in the mirror in the bathroom just to the left of the boy's dormitory, and noted that he did, indeed, look 'washed out,' as Neville had claimed. His face was chalky white and his scar was an angry red in contrast, standing out vividly.

Hopefully, he'd not inadvertently missed dinner by falling asleep into his reading after he'd left Hermione to suffer alone in the library. Maybe that was the cause of his creepy dream? He'd been reading too much about the Malfoys and so they'd decided to worm their way into his subconscious mind and taunt him with silly riddles and cryptic messages.

His vision suddenly swam and he grabbed frantically at the edge of the sink.

_"I want you to make things right,"_ hissed a recognizable voice.

Nausea welled up within him and his face went whiter, if at all possible. The clink of his engagement ring against the scrubbed porcelain rang shrilly in his ear and he bit his lower lip to keep from losing the contents of his stomach into the basin.

He winced and then looked up into his own eyes in the water spotted mirror, only to see icy blue and sharp edges reflect back at him. The bloody bride from his dream stared out at him from the mirror, her eyes shifting to his hands, tight against the porcelain, and then back up to stare demandingly into his own.

He suddenly, desperately wanted to find Draco Malfoy and pound his face into the nearest flat surface for bringing this misery down upon him.

Cursing, he managed to fling himself back from the mirror and the sink and hold onto his lunch. The reflection of the Malfoy Bloody Bride stepped back as well, and disappeared with the added distance, a frustrated look upon her face.

He took a moment to gather himself and then huffed, annoyed and swept out of the bathroom, nearly knocking Dean flat on his way in.

"Are you all right, mate? You look a little-"

Harry grunted, "Later, Dean."

After a quick stop to pick up his wand off his bedside table, Harry straightened his wrinkled robes, rubbed his hand over his face, and made his way out of Gryffindor tower. He passed several students in the hallway, all on their way to the Great Hall for dinner. Several of them shot him concerned looks, and he could only imagine how he must have looked.

He ducked his head and slid his left hand into his pocket, and walked a little faster.

It should have been no surprise to him, then, when he knocked forcefully into somebody. There was a low curse from his victim, and then a familiar whiz past his ear. He angled to the right and both of his hands shot out of their own accord to clutch at the escaping Snitch.

"Bloody Hell, Potter. Is there some reason you keep slamming into me? And give that back."

Anger welled up in Harry, returning from whence he'd shoved it just moments ago in the Gryffindor bathroom. "Malfoy."

"Potter," Malfoy mimicked in a high voice, and Harry glared at him while patting absentmindedly at the settling Snitch. "Give it back, now."

"Hmm…" Harry seemed to consider, face growing thoughtful. "No. Why do you have a Snitch free in the school anyway?"

"That's none of your business, poofy-two-shoes. Hand it over."

Harry, already annoyed and angry with the arrogant blond, felt his scowl return. "I don't see your name on it," he snarked back.

"Then you're not looking, you myopic bastard. It's engraved under the right wing."

Harry had fallen for this trick once before from Draco, sometime in third year when a 'Your shoes are untied,' had landed him flat on his rear from a well aimed _Expelliarmus_, so he only rolled his eyes at the obvious attempt. "You think the whole world belongs to you."

Draco batted his lashes at Harry, "It's better than having absolutely nothing and being reduced to passing all my time with _muggles_."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Malfoy. I'd forgotten. The Ministry has all of your money." Harry smiled back sweetly.

Draco dropped his mocking expression and scowled. "I hate you."

"I hate you more," Harry replied.

Draco spluttered, the scoffed. "You do _not_."

"I do too."

"You can't possibly. I hated you before I ever met you."

"Oh, sure. That's why you wanted to be my _bestest_," Harry's voice rose girlishly to accentuate this word, "friend. Come on, you remember. 'I'll show you the right sort,' or something like that."

"It was 'You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort, I can help you there'-" Draco cut himself and let out a frustrated growl. "Shut. Up. Potter. And give me back my Snitch before I stuff your wand up your nose!"

Harry once again rolled his eyes and tossed the Snitch up in the air. It took a few seconds to brush it's wings off and floated in a lazy circle above their heads, only to shoot off as Draco finally shook his head and reached up to grab it.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco cursed, then leveled a glare at Harry's departing form.

§ § §

Harry bit the bullet a few moments later at supper and told a wide-eyed Hermione everything. He told her about the first dream all those weeks ago, and then explained about the dream that afternoon, and then told her about what had happened to him in the bathroom that night.

"Is it possible the ring is haunted? By the dead ghost of a past Malfoy bride?" Hermione asked him.

"I think that sounds like a reasonable explanation," Harry said as he picked at his food.

"She said she's guarding you against something?" Hermione continued to question. Ron was still a slight green from Harry's description of the bloodied woman, and had pushed his dinner away a moment ago. "And that she wants you to make things right? I don't understand. What's gone wrong?"

Harry shrugged and squirmed into his seat.

"I still can't believe it, though. Salazar Slytherin, a homosexual?"

"And queer for a Malfoy, too," Ron muttered. "Makes perfect sense to me. Evil meets evil, evil likes evil-"

"Loves," Hermione corrected. "She said they were in love, right Harry?"

Ron snorted, "Sure. They were _evil_, Herm. Evil doesn't love."

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione argued. "I think everyone's capable of love. And maybe he didn't start out evil, he was rather old when they finished Hogwarts, you know. Bitter. Remember that statue in the Basilisk's chamber? He was ages old when that was done, and it had to've been done before he ever left. Maybe he was nice when he was younger."

"Oh, I bet he was a real humanitarian. Loved puppies and kittens and never even thought about siccing giant monster snakes on helpless little girls."

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Can we get back to the point?" Harry interrupted. "I can't get the ring off, and while it's on I'm being haunted and _guarded_ against my will, and she wants me to do something for her."

"Well," Hermione bit into her roll and chewed for a moment, "perhaps the ring will come off when you do what the ghost haunting it wants done. Did she tell you her name? I don't feel right referring to her as the bloody bride."

"No, I didn't catch her name. I was busy trying to figure out what she wanted."

"Did she say something else about what she wants you to do?" Hermione persisted.

"Something about a happy end-" Harry was cut off by an outraged squeal from the Slytherin end of the common room, and turned just in time to see Greg Goyle shout threateningly at Draco Malfoy.

§ § §

"Give it back, Draco!" Greg pleaded, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'd love to, if you could only manage to get. It. Off. Of. Me." Draco returned shortly.

Greg had gotten a box of chocolate frogs from his Mum for his birthday, and had been snacking on them all through dinner. Draco had been sitting at his usual spot in between Greg and Vin, pondering his long-lost childhood toys. His Snitch had been caught and was now struggling futilely in his pockets, drawing his thoughts. In fact, he'd been minding his own business when the frog had leapt from Greg's plate and attacked him viciously.

"What the devil is wrong with this thing- Oh… oh, no. Stop it. Get it off me now, Greg!" The frog had settled into his sleeve, holding onto it for dear life, clawing desperately with sticky, chocolate fingers. It's lower jaw began to bulge out and it shook forebodingly.

Greg reached for it, brows drawn together, and Draco swatted at it with a leg of lamb from Vin's plate. Draco stepped back, nearly tripping of the bench as he backed away from the table into the staring Ravenclaws behind him. "Get it _off_ me!"

With one final, desperate swipe, Greg managed to dislodge the chocolate frog. It flew in a graceful arc from Draco's chocolate-smudged robes and landed with a sickening plop in Vin's tomato soup. There it floated precariously for a moment, before regaining its momentum and kicking uselessly against the slick side of the small bowl. Soup was splattering in nearly every direction, further ruining Draco's robes and drawing shocked screeches from both Pansy and Millicent.

"Vin!" Pansy shrieked.

"Oh, you'll pay for that," Millicent growled, grabbing up a napkin from the unfortunate Slytherin who'd been sitting beside her, also drawing a bit of damage.

"I didn't do nothing!" Vincent defended himself, and then pointed accusingly at Draco and Greg, "They started it."

"Sell-out," Draco grumbled, and then they all froze to watch in fascinated horror as the chocolate frog finally found enough leverage to kick itself out of the thick soup. It landed with another splat on the table and took a few last hops to land square in the middle of Draco's plate, where it immediately began croaking despondently and bulging.

With one last, feeble croak, it unloaded a small splat of its chocolate innards and fell head first into its own vomit. Within moments, it had melted into a puddle in the midst of his supper, and covered half of Draco's plate.

They all stared for a long moment with drawn breath.

Eventually, they shook themselves from their stupor, and Pansy was the first to break the silence, "What _was_ that!"

All four of them began shouting at each other, and the rest of the student body began to snort and giggle behind Draco's back, but he watched the chocolate pool with interest. He reached out and dipped his fingers into it, and encountered a piece of paper that hadn't been on his plate before the frog had died its horrible death. Ignoring his classmates, he grabbed his napkin and wiped at the paper, revealing the menacing face of the Evil Lord Grindelwald.

"Excuse me," he mumbled at them. "I've got to go clean up."

With that, Draco swept from his surprised counterparts and exited the hall.

§ § §

"Well, that was interesting," Hermione deadpanned as Ron chortled into his drink. Harry had regained his appetite after the Slytherin display, and was working his way through dinner finally.

"Bet he went off to get clean robes, snobby git. Wouldn't want to hang about in public all _dirty_," Ron snorted. Harry smirked and filled his spoon with soup. "I'd really like to mess that snotty prat up-Harry!"

Harry dipped his spoon back into his soup and looked innocently up at Ron. "What?"

"Did you just…" Ron spluttered, and then they both grinned at each other, and Ron crowed. "Food fight!"

"No!" Hermione shouted and the two stopped mid motion. "No, absolutely not. Especially not as I'm sitting _right beside you_, you infantile reprobates! Honestly," she sighed as they slowly lowered their weapons, "it's as if you're still in first year."

"I don't remember food fights from first year," Ron turned a confused look to Neville, who sat beside him watching the scene raptly. "Do you, Neville?"

Neville shook his head, but stopped mid shake to watch, fascinated, as a lump of mashed potatoes landed with a splat on Ron's shoulder. Ron squinted past Neville at Seamus, who sat on Neville's other side.

"Did someone say 'Food Fight'?"

With an anguished howl of, "Honestly, boys," Hermione scrambled back from the table, leaving her supper and her best friends to their fates at the hands of a very peeved looking McGonagall.

§ § §

A few hours later, after they'd all been properly chastised and punished, Ron changed out of his trashed robes and began to look for Hermione. He found her in the same position he normally found her in; in the library, bent over a book and reading deeply. She was beautiful like this, he often thought, all soft and relaxed yet intense and focused.

She'd often wondered why he had so much trouble keeping his mind on his texts when they studied together, but he knew exactly why it was. It was because he inevitably spent more time studying his best female friend than his History of Magic textbook. School couldn't even begin to compete with the way she ran her hand through her hair when she skimmed over a paragraph, as if she couldn't spare the energy for the movement in moments when she was more focused.

She did it now, reaching up to shove her fingers roughly into her bedraggled mane. She flipped a page in the book she was reading, and her fingers froze, pulling at her scalp. She must have found something particularly interesting. He could see the side of her face from where he stood between the library stacks, with only "Mating Habits of the Irish Quazzle" by Irvine Oxley, through "Utterly Horrific Things to Say at Tea" by Meredith Picady nearby to witness his fascination.

Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip in a tug-of-war that had his palms turning sweaty and his heart racing. Her fingers abandoned her hair to push at her wiry frames, and then he must have made a sound, because she was turning toward him with a look of concentrated blankness. She blinked and then smiled at him, and he found himself standing beside her chair before he knew he'd moved.

"Ron, I'm so glad you're here. Look at this-"

He dropped into the chair next to her and pulled close, and she angled the book towards him to show him a passage, and then _his_ fingers were in her hair, awkwardly pulling her face to him.

"Ron?"

His lips brushed against hers, and she froze, and his mind frantically rewound over every moment they'd ever shared and the faces of every boy he'd known she'd liked and he'd hated on mere principle. Every time she'd hugged him and he'd blushed, every time he'd watched her turn red with embarrassment. "'Mione-"

And then her lips were pressing back against his, and the book she'd been reading had fallen flat to the table they pressed uncomfortably against. His lips mashed against his teeth, so he opened his mouth, and then she opened hers and suddenly he could taste her and he never wanted to do anything else again.

"Oh, that's disgusting!"

Ron pulled abruptly back, and Hermione made an undignified squeak.

"Oh, yuck! My eyes shall have to be washed in formaldehyde before I can bear to look at either of you again."

Ron sat his chair back down on all fours and suppressed a growl. "Malfoy, what do you want?"

"An eviscerating charm, but I can find that on my own. Does your puppy know you're off studying each other's tonsils?"

Hermione choked, then scrambled to her feet and dropped her book on the table before her. "I… er… I've gotta go."

"'Mione?" Ron's stomach dropped, and a panicked look flashed across his face.

She mumbled something, looked over at Draco, grew bright red, and then grabbed up her satchel and rushed out of the library, dropping another book and stumbling around a pushed back chair.

"Cripes." Ron watched her go, and then turned a glare on Draco. "Later, Malfoy."

"Much, I hope." Draco shuddered delicately, "I also hope they burn that desk."

Ron growled and pushed himself up to follow Hermione out of the library.

Draco shook himself one last time, though no one was around to benefit from his scrunched up nose and disgusted air. He paused by the table and looked down at the open book there. Then he froze, picked up the book and looked confusingly down at the spell that Granger and Weasley had obviously been poring over before they'd gotten distracted.

After a few minutes of study, he smiled smugly at no one in particular.

§ § §

Deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts, far from prying eyes and meddlesome old men, there was a rarely visited candle lit room. In its center was a desk piled with parchment and books, broken quills and spilled ink pots.

Shelves lined two of the dank, brick walls, and on them sat objects so horrible in nature that even stalwart men of the world quailed at the thought of touching them. The heart of some poor, molested creature floated in a jar of clear liquid, preserved for a day when some thoughtless child would slice pieces of it away for their own, perverse pleasure. A shrunken, severed head watched the perimeter of its domain, eyes sewn shut.

Behind it several vials and jugs perched, some upended and spilled into the wood. Books spotted these shelves, slumped over on their faces and supporting each other like fallen warriors.

The atmosphere was perfect for the man who preferred to spend most of his time there; foreboding and cold. At the desk this man hovered, hunched over a half filled parchment, fresh quill in hand. Occasionally, if someone were there and apt to remain silent long enough to listen to their surroundings, they might hear the scratching of the quill against that parchment, offset by and studious tapping of long fingers on the heavy, warped desk.

The dark head whipped up and eyes narrowed at the sound of heavy footsteps outside the door. There was a moment's pause, and then a light knocking, which caused Professor Severus Snape to sigh laboriously. "Enter."

The heavy door scraped the dungeon floor as it was pushed open, and within the entry way, framed by escaping candle light, stood Draco Malfoy.

"Professor Snape, I need to speak with you concerning a matter of great importance." Draco's words brought Severus' irritation to the forefront. He'd never wanted to be a teacher, you know. He'd had dreams. Goals. They did not include helping the youth of the Wizarding world learn to wipe their own bums, despite evidence to the contrary.

He'd wanted to be an adventurer, the kind of man Lockhart had reported himself to be. He'd thoroughly enjoyed his DADA classes in school, but much to his dismay had gotten far, far better marks in potions. Then there'd been that whole cock up with Voldemort and his crowd and the promises and his naive racial prejudices. In the end he'd changed his tune, but it had been too late and he'd given up any chance he'd ever had at becoming a respectable adventurer, so he'd turned to teaching. Then that meddling old fool had found him out and persuaded him to return to his darker ways, for the benefit of all that was good and kind and fluffy puppies and all that rot.

It was pure emotional blackmail, was what it was.

"Professor Snape, are you in attendance today?"

He glared at his favorite student, a term which really didn't mean much as for him it was an oxymoron. "If you have come to me seeking help, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you scrounge up a bit more respect."

Draco lost his disapproving look at that pronouncement and instantly adopted an air of innocence Severus hadn't seen since Fred and George Weasley had turned his hair a bright orange during their fourth year Gryffindor OWLS.

Severus Snape was, most definitely, not a fall.

With a thunk, Draco seated himself in one of the stiff backed chairs in front of his Head of House's desk and held out a clenched fist. Between each finger, twitching at odd angles, were soft, downy white feathers. There was a shifting as the object struggled and Severus was allowed a brief flash of gold.

"A Snitch."

"Yes," replied Draco. "I found it out on the Quidditch Pitch earlier, only I lost it several years ago."

"How fortunate for you," Severus offered, confused.

"I was six, I think. I'd never been to Hogwarts before, and I hardly think it followed me from Malfoy Manor _now_, ten years later. I need to know what's going on."

Snape looked at him, nonplussed, and then silently held out his hand for the Snitch. Carefully, Draco unwrapped his fingers and Severus clutched at the flighty ball.

"It's got my initials and 'Property of' engraved on it."

Studying the fluttering ball, Snape spat, "I can see that. Will that be all, Mr. Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco spluttered, "Aren't you going to help me?"

"Help you what? A beloved childhood toy has returned to you after all these years and you've come to me for, what? It doesn't look dangerous, it looks like a Snitch. Congratulations. Get out."

"There's also this," Draco drew the Evil Lord Grindelwald card from his robes, beginning to dry from its chocolate bath. He held it up for the Professor to see.

"Wonderful. You're very fortunate. I'm told that particular card is quite rare," with that, Severus dropped Draco's snitch onto his desk and made as if to go back to his work.

Draco scowled and grabbed for the Snitch before it could take flight and perch elsewhere. "Look, it isn't easy to have to come here asking for help-"

Severus snorted.

Draco's scowl turned into a glare, "but here I am. Help me figure out why these things are returning?"

Severus swept an arm out as if to encompass his office, "I'm just a bit busy at the moment, Mr. Malfoy."

"Professor Snape, I'd appreciate at least some consideration-"

"Have you done any research at all, before you came running to me about this petty little problem?"

"Of course," Draco's fingers clenched around the Snitch as it made an attempt at escape, "I spent the last two hours in the library-"

"It's a little late for that, isn't it?"

Draco smiled charmingly, "I simply couldn't sleep after I found these things. Much too distressing."

"I'm sure."

"In any case, I found nothing. No charms that could be responsible, nothing in the history books that might account for it. You know, the ones I could get at…" Draco trailed off and gave his Head of House a speaking look.

"Will it get you to leave me alone?"

Draco looked innocent and nodded.

"Fine!" Severus scowled and opened up a drawer in his office desk, shifting through papers and ribbons and half-empty bottles of wax. Pulling out a blank card with only one ink splotch on it, he scrawled a quick note and handed it over. "Only to be used in the research of this particular subject, and-" he pulled the card back slightly as Draco reached for it with his empty hand, "I expect a paper of some sort submitted to the proper department when you've finished. If it's a charm, Professor Flitwick, a Potion, myself, etcetera."

"Of course, Professor. Thank you for you help."

Draco stood and shuffled from the room and Severus Snape once again was blessed with silence.

**End Chapter**

Not so long a wait this time around. The plot should actually start to pick up now, and I'll be tossing tidbits in willy nilly till our heroes figure stuff out at the end of the day. Also, I had to let everyone know just how wonderful all the response was last time. Not the volume, but the quality. You guys are great, and so helpful. A few of you made some guesses that were absolutely spot on and I'm so proud of you (and myself, because that means I'm doing well with the hints), but I won't tell you who made correct guesses. That would be telling. . This time around, I'm a bit worried this chapter was abrupt in some places, but I'm overall happy with it. Let me know what you think if you can!

**Edited (11/10/04):** Some cannon errors and a name mix-up. Thanks for pointing my mistakes out, guys. Keep the feedback coming.


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